


Things You Just Can't Do

by Brithna



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 86,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brithna/pseuds/Brithna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There really are things you’re not capable of doing alone…or at all. And that’s okay. You’ve just got to figure out what to do once you realize this, especially when you realize this is true for someone else as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This morning the sound of Miranda’s footsteps remind her of an entire legion of Stormtroopers coming down the hall, Darth Vader at the head of the column, ready to choke someone to death with his mind alone. Andy’s first inclination is to run and hide before Miranda makes it inside the office, but she doesn’t move a muscle.  By now Andy is well practiced in stuffing down those ‘first inclinations’ and able to go for the more practical and realistic choice—even if it’s the more dangerous. And she’s tired too, so running and hiding anywhere that doesn’t involve a bed or couch to drop dead on, really requires too much effort. So, Andy stays right where she is, notepad in hand, waiting for Darth Vader…Miranda, to arrive so the day can officially start.

Sometimes Andy wonders if it would make Miranda feel better to really choke somebody, really beat the crap out of whichever ugly and incompetent creature has pissed her off at that particular moment. It might. But at the same time it’s hard to visualize. While there isn’t much in the world that Andy considers scarier than Miranda, she still can’t quite make her mind draw up the image of Miranda kicking the shit out of someone. Not even Irv.

She’s so small and fragile looking. Which isn’t true at all, of course. While she is a size four and a little shorter than Andy, she’s not small. And she is definitely not fragile. Miranda is bigger than life, tougher than an entire legion of Stormtroopers, scarier than Darth Vader. There is nothing she cannot do. And she sure as hell isn’t scared of anything or anybody.

Take the past few months as an example. Miranda’s divorce still isn’t final and Stephen’s being a real dumbass. Honestly, though, that’s kind of the norm for Stephen. The hard part is that in the beginning (according to the Rumor Mill known as Nigel) he’d agreed everything should be quick and painless. But quick and painless soon became long and excruciating. He wants money now. He wants the house in the Hamptons now. He wants, wants, and wants.

In the middle of it all (as if this isn’t bad enough) Miranda’s ex-husband Greg decided to turn into a dumbass too and tried to screw with their custody agreement. Well, actually, there _isn’t_ a custody agreement. Never has been. Apparently, (according to the Rumor Mill known as Nigel) all those years ago Miranda and Greg agreed to keep everything out of court as far as the girls were concerned. They worked everything out on their own and it’s been fine for about six years or so. But not anymore. When news of Miranda’s separation from Stephen hit the papers, Greg felt like the girls would be better off with him. Permanently.

This means Miranda has been spending an awful lot of time in courtrooms lately, fighting to keep as much of her money as possible and fighting to keep her kids. She’s been fighting Irv too, of course, and trying get back at him anyway she can think of because or once, somebody was able to force her to make a choice. A choice she never wanted to have to make. And even though Miranda was able to save her ass back there in Paris—she’s going to make Irv suffer.  

Throughout all this Miranda has held her head high, daring anyone with just a single glare to come and fuck with her and so far, no one else has. But that doesn’t mean Miranda isn’t watching and waiting. Oh, she’s watching alright. Watching and _planning_ is more like it.

The ink hardly had a chance to dry on Jacqueline’s contract with JHI before Miranda started messing up shit for James. Even before then, his work had started to slip, but after Jacqueline was brought on board, it just got worse. In an effort to not crash and burn in the eyes of the entire fashion world, he quietly became Miranda’s snitch. 

In summary: James tells Miranda about every single move Jacqueline makes and Miranda helps James not make a complete fool out of himself when he puts something new out there for the masses to see.

But there’s more to it than him tattling on Jacqueline all the time. James is tattling on Christian too, having hired him (because Miranda said so) to do what—no one’s really sure because Christian is a writer, or thinks he is. Honestly, Andy doesn’t know all the gossip there is to know about that whole thing because frankly, she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t mind hearing all about Jacqueline’s latest adventures from Nigel’s Rumor Mill but seriously can’t be in the same room if someone’s going to be uttering the name Christian Thompson. Andy would rather chat about a young Tom Riddle than Christian Thompson and that’s considered sacrilege in certain circles. If you’re well read at least.

The point is: Miranda is the most terrifying and unafraid person Andy has ever met and that will never change.

One thing she _would_ like to change though is all this running around, feeling like a chicken with her head cut off. Ever since they’ve come back from Paris Andy has been working harder than ever before at being everywhere at once and performing more miracles in one day than Christ himself ever did on Earth. All without the aid of a time turner, mind you.

It’s like Miranda just can’t let her have a break. She gets to work at six (sometimes even earlier) and more often than not, doesn’t step foot back inside her apartment until around one in the morning (sometimes even later). Even after that she isn’t really off the clock. Miranda, Nigel, hell sometimes even Emily is likely to call her at all hours, meaning a good night’s rest is something Andy has completely forgotten was possible.

And that’s not all. That’s not the only reason Andy is so tired that all she wants to do is crawl up under her desk and go to sleep. Nate’s still around, bugging the absolute shit out of her. Ironically enough, even though they are broken up, he’s moved out and Andy is at work 99% of the time—Nate still finds a way to be irritatingly present in her life. He wants to get back together. He wants Andy to move to Boston with him. He wants her to be whoever it was that she used to be. He wants, wants, and wants.

All Andy _wants_ is for Nate, Stephen, Greg, Irv, Jacqueline, and He Who Must Not Be Named to drop dead. All Andy wants is for Miranda to be terrifying and unafraid without having to have Andy in her pocket every single minute of the day and night (or at least that’s how it feels) so she can get some sleep. All Andy wants is peace and quiet and little to _no_ drama whatsoever because her nerves are more than a little frayed at the edges.

If she could be so lucky.

“Where is my coffee? Did Emily break her leg again?” Miranda snaps at Andy as she marches in, throwing her coat and bag onto Emily’s desk in the same breath.

“Emily’s on her way up with it now, Miranda.” Or so Andy hopes. She better be. Emily had better be on her way up with it because there will be hell to pay otherwise.

“I want my coffee now. Not when Emily thinks I should have it—but _NOW_.”

And here we go.

Three seconds later Emily comes through the door with Miranda’s coffee and they get enough work handed down to them to do in two lifetimes. But of course, Andy’s is all that and _more_ , and just looking at the list makes her want to demand a raise.

By the time Andy leaves to retrieve Miranda’s lunch, she’s been so busy that she’s forgotten about all the people she wishes would drop dead and how tired she is and how her nerves are basically one catastrophic event away from being turned into a pile of goo. In fact, Andy’s barely even thinking about the task at hand because she’s busy wolfing down a very greasy and disgusting looking hotdog that tastes like heaven.

Heaven turns into Hell a mere block away from Smith & Wollensky’s though. Or maybe she should say Azkaban instead of Hell because calling this experience _Hell_ is kind of like insulting the Devil. And who is the Devil? That was hard to tell on most days. Especially today.

The last bite of her hotdog turns to ash in Andy’s mouth when she sees Christian Thompson walking right toward her. In a matter of seconds what has to be an entire _legion_ of Dementors begin to suck out her soul. Everything comes back. The hurt, the panic, the irrationality of it all and feelings of stupidity fill her up as her soul leaves. By the time he reaches her, Andy is dead inside. Which is the point, isn’t it? The Dementors. They leave you alive but they take everything else.

“Well,” Christian stops in front of her and grins. “If it isn’t Miranda-girl.”

No, no, _no_. She is not ‘Miranda-girl’. _NOT_.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you’ve missed me?” He smiles again and before Andy can move, Christian grabs her hand and kisses it.

Andy pulls her hand back and forces herself not to slap him. That won’t do. Showing him her anger won’t do because she can’t. The entire Runway staff has all been instructed by Miranda to treat Christian Thompson with the ‘upmost respect’ in an effort to make him let down his guard because she intends to make him pay too.

Andy nearly spit coffee in ten different directions when she first learned of this new tactic, but calmed down soon after because there was no way in a million years Christian Thompson would ever approach her after all that had happened, would he? Well he has. He has approached and now all Andy wants to do is run as far away from him as possible. But she can’t do that. Andy’s got to treat Christian with the ‘upmost respect’ or he’ll think something is wrong. Andy’s got to go with the more practical and realistic choice. The more dangerous choice.   For her anyway, this is the more dangerous choice.

“Uh…hi. Hi, Christian!” Andy smiles, which turns her stomach. “How have you been?”

 “Oh, I’ve been great,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Having a lot of fun working with James.”

“Ah. That’s good…that’s good.”

While Christian grins some more and plays with his hair, he goes on and on about James and... _whatever_. Andy’s not paying attention. Her brain has pretty much shut down so she keeps smiling and nodding, all the while praying that somebody with a really, really good patronus charm shows up. But nobody does.

“So, yeah… Would you like to accompany me tonight?”

“What? I’m sorry…what?”

“The party. At James’ studio?” He studies her, obviously anxious to see what Andy will say.

If the Dementors haven’t completely sucked out her soul already, the job is for sure done now. Of course, Andy knows what she should do, has to do, but can’t. There is _no_ way. If she can’t even be in the same room when his name is mentioned, how in the hell is she supposed to go out with him? Seriously? How is that supposed to work?

As she keeps standing there staring at him, Andy thinks of all the crap that happened in Paris; she can’t help it. Being asked to go ( _told_ to go is more like it) was bad enough but after that it was like someone kept pouring water into her little life-raft, to say nothing of poking holes in it every single day.

She’d been drowning right from the start with Miranda making her choose, then Emily and her guilt trip, then the ten thousand things Miranda needed done at once and then…Miranda. Miranda, all by herself, in a bathrobe with wet hair and a tear-stained face let the last bit of air out of Andy’s raft and all sorts of ugly and terrible things happened because of it. Things that Andy doesn’t like to think about. Things like Christian Thompson. Things like walking away then (thank you, God) turning around.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Andy says and she’s pretty sure she sounds like a complete bitch. “I have work until God knows when.”

Christian’s face goes a little pale at the mention of Runway, like he forgot where she works. “Oh, okay,” he shrugs. “I guess I’ll see ya around, Miranda-girl.” After that he smiles, does a little half bow thing then saunters off, leaving Andy to hurry her ass to Smith & Wollensky’s.

Honestly, she didn’t expect him to give up so easily but is thrilled anyway and tries hard to forget any of the past five minutes even happened. Andy’s soul is still in the possession of the Dementors though so everything still feels fucked up and she can’t get that image of Miranda out of her head… Miranda, all by herself, in a bathrobe with wet hair and a tear-stained face that filled Andy up with so many feelings she _still_ to this day hasn’t got them all sorted. She might never; because there’s no Sorting Hat around that she can put on and have everything explained. But even if there was, the Hat wouldn’t help Andy with this. Whatever _this_ is.  

Andy’s in and out of the restaurant in seconds then begins the journey back. She’s trying hard to get herself together, wondering why things aren’t coming back into place. But it’s no wonder, really. She’s tired. More tired than she was willing to admit this morning when she thought about bolting as Miranda marched down the hall in all her terrifying glory.

It’s just that there is no time. In fact, Andy feels like any time she does get, is stolen time. Nothing is really hers anymore. Not even the time she takes to eat; that’s only a basic necessity now, never for enjoyment.

Her cell phone rings when Andy is about four blocks from Elias-Clarke. The only reason she doesn’t scream (and this is totally screwed up) is because it’s Miranda. As she answers, part of her starts to feel normal again (which is even more screwed up), like her soul is being given back to her, like someone has come along and performed a really, _really_ good potronus charm.

“Hello, Miranda.” Andy says, fighting a stupid smile that wants to come to the surface without her permission.

“Turn around. We’re behind you.”

There is nothing after that. Miranda has already hung up the phone, of course, and Andy grins because that’s just Miranda’s way. She has no time for pleasantries, chit-chat or anything other than what is necessary. Saying ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ are not necessary.

The town-car is three cars back, stuck in traffic. Andy takes a deep breath before maneuvering her bag and Miranda’s lunch into one hand so she can open the door, steadying herself for Miranda’s bad attitude. She hates traffic. It’s unnecessary.

To Andy’s complete shock, the door opens from the inside. Miranda…has opened the door for her.

While she carefully gets in, trying to make sure she doesn’t drop anything, Miranda reaches across the seat one more time and takes the Smith & Wollensky bag from her. Once Andy gets herself situated, she turns to Miranda.

“Thanks for the lift,” she says, and instantly wants to hit herself in the head. _Thanks for the lift?_

For a moment Miranda says nothing and does nothing but look her up and down in the seat. Andy tries not to tense up. Lately, when Miranda inspects her it feels weird, off in some way, not at all like it used to. She can’t say that she ever _liked_ being looked over like this but somehow it always felt good to get the nod. It still feels good but there’s more to it now and that’s another reason why she needs a Sorting Hat to help her make sense of all this mess inside, even if it’s not designed for that kind of thing. Or maybe Yoda. Maybe he could explain everything to Andy in some backward way that would only sound like a riddle. But hopefully a riddle she could understand.

Finally Miranda takes her sunglasses off and speaks. What comes out of her mouth is not only more shocking than her opening a car door, but it’s the beginning of the end, basically.

“What is the matter?” She asks. “You look unwell.”

Unwell? She looks _unwell_? Okay, Andy probably looks a little worse for wear considering she’s been running around chasing down Miranda’s lunch but she can’t look that bad. And really, why does Miranda care?

“I…uh. I’m…I’m sorry?” Andy shrugs and gets ready to hear an insult or two. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t hear an insult at all. Instead, Miranda dismisses her apology entirely.

“You’re pale.”

Of course she is. They are well past summer and Andy’s skin tone is only a shade or two above Miranda’s now.

“I feel fine,” Andy says since it looks like Miranda is getting impatient for her answer.

“I dare say you do not feel _fine_ , Andrea.” Miranda rolls her eyes and stares two holes into Andy. “Honestly, you look as if you’ve…well, I don’t know. But you look horrid. And _pale_. Did something happen?”

Did something happen? Oh, _yeah_ , something happened alright. Andy’s soul just got sucked out about twenty minutes ago, that’s what.

“I’m serious.” Miranda snaps. “What is the matter?”

From the look she’s getting, Andy knows she can’t get out of this and she’s too damn tired to come up with any kind of excuse that Miranda might believe. Which means she’s got to tell the truth. She’s got to go with the choice that is far from practical and realistic. She’s got to go with the truly dangerous choice.

With a sigh she says, “I ran into Christian Thompson.”

“Not literally, I hope.” Miranda says, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“No. Not literally.”

“Hm. I see.” Miranda shifts in her seat. “What did he have to say for himself?”

Andy wants to lie. She doesn’t want to tell Miranda the truth but yet again, she’s too tired to come up with something that has _any_ hope of being believable. The only people that are able to lie to Miranda and get away with it are the twins. But even Miranda probably knows she’s being lied to. She just chooses to do nothing about it because they’re too cute to yell at. Even Andy has softened up to them and they almost cost her a job she didn’t know she wanted until the prospect of losing it hit her in the face. When they smile though, it’s hard to stay mad.

Knowing she doesn’t have the strength to lie, Andy says, “He said something about a party tonight. At James’. He asked me to go.”

Out of the corner of her eye Andy watches Miranda’s expression change. At first it’s kind of odd, kind of dark but then it changes again. In fact, it changes so much it could almost be considered a smile. An evil smile.

“James has some sketches prepared for me to look over. Fetch them before you leave the party.”

 No, no, _no_. She can’t. Andy cannot do that. Besides, she’s already told Christian as much.

“I’m not going. I told him I couldn’t.” Andy blurts out.

Miranda raises an eyebrow. “Why ever not?” 

“I just…I just don’t want to go, Miranda.”

“I see. Well, you will go, Andrea, and bring the sketches to me tomorrow morning. You will go.”

Miranda shakes her head then looks out her window. All the while Andy’s heart starts to beat faster and faster and those Dementors are seconds away from sucking out her soul again. At this point, Darth Vader might as well be headed straight for her too. What a perfect combination.

She cannot do this. Andy _cannot_ do this. She can’t hear his name, can’t stand on the same sidewalk with him, and definitely can’t go out on a date with him. She can’t. She can’t feel all those awful feelings and relive all those days she spent being fucked up because Andy is _still_ fucked up somehow.

“But I’m supposed to be organizing everything for the board meeting next week.” Andy points out, praying that this will work.

“No, no,” Miranda looks at her and glares. “That can wait. I want you at this party, Andrea. With him. I want to see what he’s been up to.”

Doesn’t Miranda already know? After all, that’s why she made James hire Christian, isn’t it?

Before she realizes what she’s doing, Andy tells her flat out, “I don’t want to go, Miranda.”

After the words are said, she feels those Dementors really start in. They’re ripping everything out so slowly and honest to God, she might pass out right here in this car. It hurts. Betraying Emily hurt. Seeing Miranda cry hurt. Feeling Miranda get closer then pull away… _hurt_. Jumping into bed with Christian—

“Andrea?”

Andy whips her head around. Miranda is touching her shoulder.

“I don’t want to go, okay?” Andy starts fidgeting. “I really can’t, Miranda. Just…just send somebody else. Please,” she begs, trying to salvage whatever bits of sanity she has left at the same time because it’s clear that this, _this_ is that catastrophic event that’s going to undo her completely. She cannot go out with Christian. Andy will quit before she does it. No matter if leaving tears out her soul to the point where she’ll never get it back, Andy is _not_ going to that party.

Miranda lets go of Andy’s shoulder and looks out the window again. “You’ve had dealings with him? In the past?” 

Well, duh! Andy thinks but, miraculously, holds back that part of her reply. Instead of going off, she says, “Yes, I did.”

“Paris, I presume?”

And here’s another ‘well, duh!’ moment. Miranda knows this already! Or has she forgotten? She might not know that they slept together but Miranda damn well knows that they got close enough for Andy to find out what a conniving bastard he is.

Instead of confirming what Miranda _ought_ to know anyway, Andy begs once again for clemency. “Please, Miranda,” she says, close to vomiting at the mere thought of Miranda making her chose between this party and her job. “I would do anything for you, Miranda…but not this. I can’t. I won’t go to that party. I can’t. Please.”

Andy doesn’t realize what she’s just said, that she’d do anything for Miranda. But even though she doesn’t realize what she’s allowed to come out of her mouth, it _is_ true. She would do anything. She _has_ done anything. In fact, through Miranda, Andy has learned that she can do anything she chooses. She has the abilities, what it takes, to make it far, very far in life. And she learned that from Miranda. But sadly enough, today Andy learns there is at least one thing she isn’t capable of.

Immediately, Andy expects a threat to be made but that is not what happens. “Very well, then.” Miranda takes a deep breath. “Don’t go,” she says. “I will make other arrangements for the sketches.”

Before Andy can say anything, the car stops; they’re back at Elias-Clarke and that is the _last_ place Andy wants to be right now.

“Why don’t you go across the street?” Miranda nods toward the Starbucks on the corner like she really and truly knows what Andy is thinking. “Get some coffee. Perhaps something to eat. I’m sure Emily can handle things for another thirty minutes.”

Andy’s too stunned to say anything at all.

Roy opens Miranda’s door but before she exits, Miranda says, “I expect you to be refreshed and feeling better when you return, Andrea. That’s all.” Roy shuts the door behind her and by the time Andy gets out of the car, Miranda is walking up the steps.

Without sticking around to question the weirdest thing on Earth that has just happened, Andy runs across the street, right in the middle of traffic. Something makes her stop on the sidewalk though before she continues on. Andy can feel something. Something pulling at her. She turns...and it’s Miranda. Standing there in the doorway of Elias-Clarke. Just looking at her.

Andy isn’t sure what to do. She can tell that Miranda hasn’t changed her mind about this thirty minute gift of peace, but what exactly is she doing? This is another thing Andy can’t sort out and it causes her to do the dumbest thing ever.

She waves. She smiles and _waves_ at the one person in the world who finds that kind of thing completely unnecessary. Miranda pulls down her glasses then and stares at Andy even harder. She can feel Miranda’s eyes piercing her. Before turning around and going into the building, Miranda gives that little nod of approval for the second time today and leaves.

Since Andy already had a hotdog earlier, and her stomach isn’t feeling all that great right now, she gets some soup and a Sprite from a deli just past Starbucks. Sitting there, looking out the window at everybody rushing by, makes Andy feel pretty lucky. She has just been given thirty more minutes to herself than she’s had in who knows how long. She has just been given time to get herself together.

She has just been given a way out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The fact that Miranda did not threaten to make her choose, baffles Andy. That is not Miranda’s way. Miranda’s way is to get what she wants, when she wants it, no matter how it happens. But not today. Without a newly designed Sorting Hat or Yoda to tell her what this means, Andy can only guess that Miranda has quite possibly lost her mind. Considering what people are and are not capable of or giving anybody a break is just not…Miranda. Miranda does not think that type of thing is necessary. Yet, here Andy is—eating soup and drinking Sprite.

Just as Andy is finishing her meal, her cell phone goes off.  And, of course, it’s Miranda. But it’s not a phone call; it’s a text. Andy looks at the screen in surprise because Miranda never texts. Texting doesn’t provide Miranda with the satisfaction of using her voice to put the fear of God into you. Yet, here she is—texting Andy. And it’s a nice, decent message too and even though she can’t _hear_ Miranda’s voice, she can tell that Miranda isn’t being pissy.

The message reads: _When you’re ready to come back, bring coffee._

There isn’t even a ‘That’s all,’ at the end and somehow it feels like if Andy needs it, this is Miranda’s way of telling her she can take more time.

With a deep breath and a shake of her head, Andy gets up and heads over to Starbucks. She doesn’t want more time. Suddenly, she’s more ready to walk back into Elias-Clarke than she has been in ages.

When she brings Miranda her coffee a few short minutes later, it feels like it’s been too long since she’s seen her and really it was only twenty-eight minutes. Just twenty-eight minutes, not even her full thirty. Andy can’t stay away from Miranda for thirty goddamn minutes… And she’s not even mad about it.

Miranda takes the coffee from her without comment and barely even a glance. It’s as if nothing happened at all.

Since nothing happened at all, Andy spends the rest of the day neck-deep in tasks. She solves a hundred problems, performs as many miracles and even though she got that gift of peace earlier in the day, by the time the sun goes down, Andy is exhausted once again. And, okay, maybe that gift is partly to blame for her tiredness as well. She wants more of it. It’s as if thirty (make that twenty-eight) minutes has spoiled Andy. But, she knows it’ll probably be a thousand years before Miranda spoils her like that again.

By seven-thirty Miranda is gone; she’s got a big weekend planned with Caroline and Cassidy. That leaves Andy to keep fixing problems and performing miracles until the Book is ready. She spends most of her time getting things together for that board meeting next week and tries very hard to not remember anything about a party or what things she really isn’t capable of doing after all.

The Book is done early. A miracle all by itself. Well, if you can call ten-thirty early. To Andy, at this point, it might as well be two in the morning.

Falling asleep in the cab really isn’t the plan but it happens; Andy can’t help it.  It’s starting to thunder too and between that and the hum of the car, she’s out in seconds. In a way, it’s another thirty minutes of peace.

Taking a second to get her bearings, Andy gathers up the dry-cleaning and her bag then pays the cab driver and sends him on. Tonight, regardless of the coming rain storm, she will take the subway home and get some take-out on the way. It is her desperate hope that for once, nobody calls her needing the impossible until at least seven o’clock in the morning. That probably won’t happen, of course, but a girl can dream.

She opens and shuts the door. The house is quiet but not empty. Andy can sense it. She senses the girls. They’ve no doubt been asleep for a while even if it is a Friday. It’s hard to get a feel for where Miranda is though. Andy listens as she puts the Book on the table with the flowers then wrestles with the dry-cleaning. Just about the time she’s prepared to say that, for once, she can’t tell where exactly Miranda is, Andy hears the front door open behind her. It’s Miranda.

Andy turns and simply stares. She cannot move. Miranda has her arms full. Her purse is over her shoulder. There are two nondescript shopping bags in her left hand and in her right…is a large, leather portfolio. She’s fighting with all this to get the key out of the door and doesn’t notice Andy standing there. Finally, Andy takes a breath and Miranda stops trying to yank the keys free from the handle. They look at one another and Andy feels something. It’s kind of the same feeling she had earlier on the sidewalk but different at the same time. More. Heavier. Still something she can’t sort out on her own.

“Here,” she says, moving forward quickly. “Let me help you.”

Andy reaches for the handle and pulls the key out. Miranda is still standing there, basically in the way now. And then it starts to rain.

“Come inside, Miranda.” Andy says, trying to figure out if something is wrong or right or just weird as usual.

Miranda comes inside but not until she’s about half drenched and she still hasn’t said anything, causing Andy to feel weirder and weirder by the second, unable to explain why.

Then it gets worse; Cara comes out from kitchen. Andy hadn’t sensed her here at all and it almost feels like she and Miranda have been caught doing something. Doing what? There’s no answer but it feels as if they’ve been caught. Apparently, Cara feels the same way. To Andy’s ears, her voice sounds muffled but she’s at least able to make out Cara hurriedly tell  Miranda to have a ‘lovely weekend’ and that the ‘girls are upstairs asleep’.

Before Andy realizes it, Cara is gone. She passed right between them, because neither she nor Miranda have moved from in front of the door. Miranda is still holding everything. And she’s still looking at Andy. And Andy is still looking at her. It’s like the world has stopped.

Whatever this is, it can’t go on forever so Andy finally moves. She takes the shopping bags out of Miranda’s hands and puts them on the table there in foyer.

“You should get out of your wet… You should go change, Miranda. The rain…” For the second time today Andy wants to hit herself in the head.

“I’ll go change. Take this into the den.” Miranda blinks and pushes the portfolio in front of her suddenly, then heads toward the stairs. She turns her head as she goes and says, “Stay and have a look. James asked after you by the way. He said to tell you ‘hello’.”

For a while Andy just stands there watching Miranda walk up the stairs then disappear altogether. She went to the party. Miranda...went to the party.

She’s short-circuiting. Not just her brain, but everything. Everything inside Andy is misfiring all over the place. Or not at all. She trips three times on her way to the den.

Miranda went to the party. _Miranda_ …went to the party because Andy couldn’t. Miranda didn’t send anybody in Andy’s place. She took care of it herself. Because Andy couldn’t…

Carefully, Andy sets the leather portfolio on the coffee table and sits on the very edge of the couch. Why does Miranda want her to stay? Why does she…

“Ah, there you are.”

Miranda walks into the den and Andy immediately wants to leave, knowing that the choice she’s made in staying isn’t the practical and realistic choice at all. It’s the dangerous choice...and she wants to change her mind. Now, Andy wants to run. She wants out of this just about as bad as she wanted out of her possible date with He Who Must Not Be Named. Why? Because here she is. Miranda. In her bathrobe with her wet hair swept back a little. A few strands are falling in her face but she doesn’t seem to notice and she doesn’t have any makeup on either which is another shock to Andy’s system.

All this combined means Miranda is letting her in. Again. Miranda is letting Andy in.

“Uh, yeah…yes. You said to bring this in here.” Andy motions toward the portfolio that’s practically taking up the entire coffee table.

“So I did.”

Without any warning at all Miranda starts to come around the table to obviously sit on the couch. Andy scurries to one side to make room and before she knows it, Miranda is sitting right beside her instead of on the other end.

“You didn’t miss much,” Miranda says this like it’s a conversation they have all the time as she starts to unzip the case. “It was the same lethal punch, the same inedible food, and the same boring and unintelligent people.” Once she’s got it open and has everything pulled out, Miranda starts to spread the drawings out on the table. There are quite a few. Apparently James really does show Miranda everything.

Andy isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say or do. Part of her wants to apologize for being unable to do such a simple thing, but a larger part of her just wants to stare. All she wants to do right now is stare. The lines around Miranda’s eyes and mouth are a little more visible now; they’re soft, the lines. She’s soft. Miranda’s skin is soft…Andy just knows.

“And the bags.” Miranda continues as she goes through the drawings. She moves each one over toward Andy like she really knows what she’s looking at. She doesn’t. “In the foyer. James sent them for you. Or one of them.”

“What?” Andy, in between Miranda’s voice, her softness and the warmth radiating off her body, is a little lost.

“The bags I brought in.” Miranda says patiently. “James sent me off with a handbag for you. Well for each of us. Pick one later.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Did you eat tonight?” Miranda turns her head then and stares at Andy exactly like she did in the car earlier today when she was convinced something was wrong.

“I did.” Andy shakes her head. “I had something after you left.” That’s the truth but even so, Andy plans on pigging out on some serious take-out if she can ever get out of here. And she needs to. She needs to get away from Miranda. But then again…she doesn’t want to leave at all.

“Very well.” Miranda says lightly then her tone darkens a bit. “These need work.”

“Oh?” Andy wouldn’t know the difference and she is 100% certain that Miranda knows that.

“Yes.” Miranda points to one of the sketches. It’s a dress of some kind. Or Andy thinks that’s what it is. Honestly, it’s hard to tell. “I can’t even say for sure what this is supposed to be. A poncho, perhaps?”

Okay, so Miranda doesn’t know either. This makes Andy feel a little less lost and without meaning to, she laughs.

“We’ll go with _poncho_ then,” Miranda says with a small smile. “I’ll make notes tomorrow. If I do it now I’m liable to say all manner of discouraging things that he’ll never be able to recover from.”

Even though a tiny part of Andy is thrilled to be on this couch right now, she takes this as her chance to go. “Okay, well I’ll go—“

“No.” Miranda puts a hand on her arm for split second then pulls it away. “I picked up some new coffee. Try some? Decaf, of course, at this hour. But it’s quite nice, really.”

So she wants Andy to stay. Miranda _wants_ Andy to stay. To have coffee. Decaf coffee... And she wants to. Andy _wants_ to stay even though she knows it’s probably the most dangerous choice she’s made yet. She can’t help herself.

Since Andy can’t help herself, she agrees and Miranda, after telling Andy to take her jacket off and get comfortable, disappears to the kitchen. Andy does as she’s told and slips out of her coat. She puts it in a nearby chair and returns to the couch, sitting in the same spot as before but wedges herself into the corner almost. If Miranda sits on the couch again she’ll _hopefully_ sit on the other end this time.

Once she gets comfortable on the couch, Andy finally starts to relax, hardly having realized how tense she’s been for the past ten minutes or so, in spite of the fact that Miranda never mentioned the guy Andy wishes (along with some other folks) would just die. She never mentioned it. Not once. So it’s like no big deal. Totally unnecessary.

Slowly, Andy feels as if she’s sinking deeper into couch cushions that feel like clouds and since it seems to be taking Miranda forever and a day to make coffee (does she even know how?), Andy closes her eyes.

Right away her mind tumbles off into the kind of quiet peacefulness that Andy’s been aching for. There is no Nate, Stephen, Greg, Irv, Jacqueline, or He Who Must Not Be Named. They’re all dead. There’s no drama either or phones ringing to rob Andy of things she can’t even remember exist. It’s quiet and peaceful. And it lasts for a long, long time.

The reason it seems to go on forever is that Andy is fast asleep. Right there on Miranda Priestly’s couch, Andy is getting better sleep (not to mention more of it) than she’s had in months. In fact, she’s sleeping so good there aren’t even any dreams to interrupt it.

There is nothing but peace.


	3. Chapter 3

At first, when she wakes up, Andy thinks she’s still waiting on Miranda to figure out how to make coffee all by herself. But then she notices that she’s covered up in Miranda’s bathrobe and that sunlight is coming in through the curtains.

Normally, now would be the perfect time for Andy to start freaking out but for some reason she just can’t. She can’t even worry that Miranda might be mad and for a moment, Andy continues to stay there in the softness and warmth of Miranda’s robe. It smells just like her, making the possibility of going back to sleep an easy thing to consider. But she can’t. Andy can’t go back to sleep. Going back to sleep is perhaps the logical more practical choice but it is too dangerous. Much too dangerous.

She sits up carefully, noticing right away that her shoes are missing. They’re by the chair where she left her coat. Miranda took her shoes off… Andy rubs her face and tries to ignore the heat she feels there on her skin. Thinking about Miranda taking off her shoes, thinking about Miranda taking care of her in _any_ way at all fills Andy up with something she can’t name. Something that has been threatening to come to the surface for a long time. Because isn’t that what most of yesterday and last night were about? Miranda, taking care of Andy?

She gave Andy a ride when she really didn’t have to at all. She let Andy have a precious thirty minute break to get herself together. She took care of something Andy just could _not_ do. She took Andy’s shoes off and covered her up with her own bathrobe; letting her get some much needed rest—something she hasn’t had in ages. Miranda did those things. Miranda found them necessary.

 _Now_ Andy starts to freak out and it’s no wonder she simply gets her shoes and coat on and leaves. She cannot stay any longer. She can’t even take the time to search the house for someone to thank. Besides, Andy can’t feel anyone here. Not even Patricia, and Cara is never around on the weekends anyway unless Miranda has a full day planned at the office. And this weekend Miranda does _not_. It has been set aside for Caroline and Cassidy and since the house seems free of Patricia, it’s a good bet that they are all out for a walk, probably to the park.

It isn’t until Andy is on the subway that she takes the time to pull out a small mirror from her handbag to give herself a good looking over. She looks rested but her hair is a bit of a mess. Brushing it out quickly, Andy puts her hair up in a pony tail and after checking out her wardrobe, she figures it’s not too wrinkled to go to the market around the corner from her apartment.

She’s hardly home to cook but Andy always likes to have some food around in case she finds herself blessed with the opportunity to eat. In fact, this market is one of the reasons Andy moved here after she and Nate broke up. It’s right around the corner, open all the time and they have fresh bagels brought in every morning. And there’s one thing Andy Sachs will always be: A sucker for a good bagel. It helps that they always have free coffee too.

Right in the middle of trying to decide if she’d rather get Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms, Andy’s phone rings. It’s Miranda (who else would it be?) and for once, she doesn’t want to answer it. It’s Miranda…and something tells Andy that this isn’t going to be a good phone call since she basically acted like a total chicken and ran out of Miranda’s house. But, she knows she’s got to, so feeling like there are a hundred Dementors chasing her, Andy answers the phone.

“Hello, Miranda.”

“If you don’t mind telling me…where are you, exactly?” Miranda’s sharp tone cuts through Andy like a knife. She’s in trouble. Big trouble.

“I’m…uh, at the market. Around the corner from my apartment.”

“Hm…”

There’s a pause and Andy bites her lip trying to figure out what Miranda is about to say far in advance. Usually she’s excellent at this but not this morning. This morning she totally fails.

“I suppose it would have been too much for you to stick around for breakfast? We were out getting it, you know. Or… Well, I suppose you don’t after all. How could you? You _left_.”

“I’m sorry.” Andy says, gripping the handle of her shopping cart so hard it might break. “But thank you…really. Thank you for letting me crash on your couch.” Yet again, Andy wants to hit herself in the head. _Crash on your couch?_ Really?

“Yes, well.” Miranda stops to clear her throat which is odd. It’s like she’s having trouble thinking of what to say or maybe _how_ to say it. But then she says it…and blows the top of Andy’s head right off. “I must say, you had an above average chance at sleeping in a perfectly made bed if you’d stayed awake long enough. Perhaps next time you’ll find it within yourself to do so. I spare no expense concerning my own comfort.”

 _What. In. The. Fuck._ Seriously. What in the hell did Andy just hear? What…

Miranda gives her no chance to say anything stupid. Which is probably a good thing. “I will see you on Monday, Andrea. You will not be required for anything this weekend. Get some rest. That’s all.”

The phone goes dead and Andy might as well dead too. But it’s not because her soul has just been sucked out by a bunch of Dementors or because Darth Vader has just sliced her in half or choked her to death. No, it’s not because of that.

It’s because Miranda Priestly told Andy she ‘ _had an above average chance at sleeping in a perfectly made bed_ ’ last night. That’s why. And more importantly, Andy can’t shake the fact that she knows, somehow, that Miranda was _not_ talking about a perfectly made bed in one of the guestrooms. No, Miranda wasn’t talking about that all. What in the hell is going on here?

To keep from freaking out completely (or maybe she already is), Andy continues to shop on autopilot; trying to force herself to _not_ believe what she’s just heard. That’s hard to do though because it feels like Miranda’s words have been burned into her brain. In fact, Andy is burning up. Her entire body is burning up right here in this grocery store. And the way she said it…the way Miranda quickly spit the words out, like she _knew_ she _shouldn’t_ but couldn’t help herself. _Oh, God_. The more Andy hears it replay over and over in her head, the more she knows that that is _exactly_ what she heard and that she’s right. Miranda wasn’t talking about anything else besides her own goddamn bed. Her own bed.

When Andy runs into huge crate of oranges, she decides it’s time to go. She hardly knows what she’s bought and the cashier actually has to run Andy’s debit card for her _and_ punch in the pin number because she can’t do it. Miranda Priestly just flat out told her she had a better than average chance of landing in _her_ bed. So no, Andy can’t work a debit card machine right now.  Who the fuck could?

And honestly… _stayed awake long enough_? For what, exactly? To do what, exactly?  To fall into a bed and sleep, like Andy really wanted to, or to do…something else? _Oh, God_.

Thoughts like this are what cause Andy to put the milk in the pantry and the Fruit Loops in the refrigerator. And, apparently, she bought Lucky Charms too and those go under the kitchen sink.

The very idea of sleeping in a bed with Miranda, like just _sleeping_ , just being there, comfortable and safe and close makes Andy sit down hard in the desk chair of her makeshift study and stare at a blank computer screen for about an hour. Thoughts like that make everything stand still and then Andy realizes something: Miranda wasn’t talking about sex. Somehow (now that Andy can think a little clearer) Andy knows that Miranda was simply talking about taking care of her. Again, Miranda wanted to take care of her. She wanted Andy to be safe and comfortable…and close. That’s all. She wanted to make sure Andy was alright. Miranda thought it was necessary.

But Andy didn’t give her a chance; she just went right to sleep on the couch where Miranda eventually covered her up and took her shoes off. And then (like a total chicken) Andy left. Without a word, without even looking for Miranda, Andy left.

Little can be done about it now except to make sure she never does it again. If she ever gets a chance. Which she probably won’t. Andy figures the likelihood of that happening has been thrown out the window. But then, she wonders when it happened that she _wants_ another chance? When did that happen? Like three seconds ago? Or has it been longer?

Yes, it’s been longer. She doesn’t really have it written down on a calendar anywhere but it _has_ been longer. She’s wanted something like that with Miranda for a long time. A really long time.

When she starts to think about being in a bed with Miranda for something _else_ besides sleeping, Andy bolts out of her chair and goes back into the kitchen. She can’t think about that. Seriously can’t, so she begins to search the kitchen for all the groceries that she put in all the wrong places and then makes herself a very large bowl of Fruit Loops and Lucky Charms combined.

Soon enough (while watching what’s left of Saturday morning cartoons) it finally hits Andy that besides telling her about that better than average chance, Miranda also told her she is officially not needed until Monday. Holy Fucking Shit.  A weekend. An entire weekend, free! What in the hell is Andy supposed to do with that?

Have a Star Wars marathon for starters. Then try to not think about Miranda every second (she will fail at this before she even begins) and maybe take an incredibly long nap.

The nap will not happen soon, though. Somewhere between her first and second bowl of cereal Andy figures out that not thinking about Miranda is _not_ something she can do. She will be thinking about Miranda and ironically enough, she does that anyway, all the time, so what’s the difference? Well the difference now is that she’s thinking about Miranda in a bed. Sleeping…and then _not_.

In light of this Andy keeps that Star Wars marathon going and cleans her apartment while the sound of lightsabers buzz away in the background. The noise actually helps a little and the fact Andy has the dialog of at least the first movie practically memorized helps even more. So, while lightsabers continue to buzz and Andy continues to recite the movie to herself, she cleans everything in sight.

Andy is never home so this, sadly, doesn’t take up much of her time at all. Which leaves her to do laundry. Thankfully, this apartment of hers came with a washer/dryer hookup so it’s not as if she has to go down to some dirty basement to wash clothes.  In fact, besides the market, the washer/dryer deal was the thing that sold her on the place.

The rent is higher, obviously, but a while ago Andy got a nice Christmas bonus and a raise so there’s not much difference in paying for this by herself compared to all the money she was spending before because Nate made even less money than her.

It has two bedrooms, both of which are small but that’s okay. The slightly bigger of the two is her bedroom; the other is used as a makeshift study and a place to store all the clothes that won’t fit in her closet. The living room is on the small side but it’s nice enough. Bookshelves line every wall and a pretty sweet big-screen television (a proudly purchased birthday present to herself) hangs there, situated between two of the book cases that house nothing but movies. Her Star Wars and Harry Potter collection are front and center; the special edition boxes have all seen better days.

The kitchen is probably the nicest thing. Nate would be jealous, that’s for sure. But, as Andy knows all too well, there’s not much time cook. Cereal and take-out are her savior most of the time. Tonight though, that will change. Or it might not since Andy falls asleep on the couch during Return of the Jedi.

This time her couch adventure isn’t nearly as peaceful and definitely not as comfortable. When she has the funds, Andy decides (in the middle of dreaming about killing Irv with a lightsaber) that buying a new couch is top priority.

When her brain finally allows her to get around to dreaming about being in Miranda’s bed…and possibly kissing her, she falls off the couch and hits the floor. It hurts but she hardly notices. Her brain is still stuck on the fact that she felt so safe and comfortable with Miranda there. They were a tangle of arms and legs and it was…wonderful, really, and by far the best dream Andy’s ever had in her life.

Obviously, Return of the Jedi is long over and since everything she owns is spotless and all the clothes are washed, Andy forgets about dinner, puts fresh sheets and blankets on the bed and falls into it. For only a split second Andy thinks about turning off her cellphone since she’s not needed until Monday, but she can’t do it. She only gets as far as putting her finger over the power button before removing it quickly and plugging the phone in to charge it. Andy cannot turn it off. _Cannot_. The feeling that this is yet another thing she just can’t do, doesn’t bother her at all. Andy might be needed. Miranda might change her mind and need her to do a hundred things in the matter of minutes so no; she can’t turn off her phone.

Almost instantly she falls asleep after making the choice (the choice that is practical, realistic and not at all dangerous) to keep her phone on, and this time it’s a bit more peacefully and certainly more comfortable.  Dreams invade her space once again; a welcome invasion though. Miranda is there and they are on her couch, Andy’s couch and that’s really all there is. Except voices, their voices…low, quiet and serious. She can’t make out what they are talking about but whatever it is, it’s serious. Whatever it is, it makes Andy reach out in the dream and put her arm around Miranda. Besides dreaming about being tangled up with her in bed, sleeping soundly, being on the couch with her arm around Miranda feels not only completely natural, but safe and comfortable, almost like she is protecting her. Almost like Miranda has let everything down and there is only Andy to carry her. There is no Runway. There is no façade. There is only Andy and a very open Miranda.

It is the best feeling in the world.

Andy finally wakes up at eleven-thirty on Sunday morning, which means that she’s slept for over twelve solid hours. And that’s not even counting her nap on the couch. Over twelve hours? Honestly, she can’t remember ever sleeping for that long in her life. Ever. And even though Andy has yet to put her feet on the floor, she can tell she’s got more energy right now than she’s had since going to Paris…hell, since she started working for Miranda.

For breakfast she goes all out making eggs, bacon (a lot of it) and about a million slices of toast. Andy loves toast as much as she loves bagels. Especially if it’s cinnamon raisin bread.

Feeling a little burnt out on Star Wars, Andy starts up Harry Potter, intent on finishing 1-5 without falling asleep. During all this, Andy eats and eats some more, trying hard not to think about beds and Miranda, and she writes; something she hasn’t done in ages. It’s mostly thoughts, feelings, nothing concrete or that could be turned into a story later. Simply put: it’s all about Miranda anyway, and maybe it’s a story already.

Nearly seven hours later, the fast-forward button on her Blu-ray remote has never been pressed so much. The urge to skip through most of Prisoner of Azkaban is no surprise. Who wants to watch Dementors continuously try to suck out someone’s soul? All it does is remind Andy of people she does _not_ want to think about and a certain sidewalk that she will probably try to avoid for the rest of her life.

By the end of Goblet of Fire, Andy is sad to admit that she won’t be able to make it all the way through Order of the Phoenix so she doesn’t even try. Instead she opts for a scalding herself in the shower then falling into bed extremely early.

There is no denying that this has been the best weekend of Andy’s life. Even if most of it was filled with thinking about Miranda, and beds, and what to do or say, or what _not_ to do or say—this has been the best weekend ever.

Plugging her cell phone back into the charger by her bed is the last thing Andy does before she falls asleep. Even though Miranda, true to her word, has not called Andy all weekend, this doesn’t mean there isn’t a chance. There is always a chance, and even though Andy has been so tired and run down lately, she knows deep down that she lives for those chances. Those chances are more important to her than anything else in the world.

Close to ten o’clock that night, Andy is running around Hogsmeade with a purple lightsaber and has had more fudge from Honeydukes than is obviously healthy (seriously, she might throw up). Basically, she is on a sugar high and totally ready to kick ass. Or maybe not; she’s also carrying around a heavy bag of schoolbooks. So it’s either chase underclassmen around and scare them to death with her lightsaber, or study.

If she doesn’t study, Andy is likely to fail Potions class, and who wants to do that? Then again, what is she worried about? For Merlin’s sake, Andy’s been secretly brewing her own Felix Felicis for five months. She’s got this!

Deciding to ditch the books, Andy grabs her lightsaber and heads off toward the first group of third year students she sees. This is more fun than Andy’s had in ages.

After she’s terrorized pretty much everybody and answers no less than a thousand questions about Star Wars, lightsabers and ‘Just what exactly is a Ewok?’ Andy sees something that she can hardly believe is real.

Dressed head to toe in Prada, Miranda looks completely out of place as she walks into Hog’s Head Inn but in an instant, Andy knows exactly what she has to do. There is something she wants to know. Andy wants to know why. Why…to everything.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Determined make the best of this or else, Andy sticks her lightsaber in the gigantic pocket on the front of her favorite Gryffindor hoodie and plows through the snow. The door to Hog’s Head groans loudly (just like always) and the floor looks disgusting (just like always) and Andy wonders if Aberforth will _ever_ redecorate. Well, if Miranda is coming in here nowadays, he’ll have to. He won’t have a choice. It’ll either be _redecorate_ , or risk the building being burnt down because while Andy can’t quite picture Miranda kicking someone’s ass, she can certainly picture Miranda lighting a match.

It makes perfect sense that Miranda is in some hidden corner that Andy’s never noticed before. It makes even more sense that she’s reviewing the Book; this might be the first block of post-it notes the wizarding world has ever seen.

Tricking herself into thinking she’s taken the biggest sip of Liquid Luck ever, Andy walks over and sits down across from Miranda on a couch that looks just like her own.

For a moment Miranda does nothing; she’s focused on the Book. After she purses her lips for the third time in a row and finishes scribbling something onto a post-it note, Miranda places it in the Book then sets it down beside her on a table.

“Hello,” she says, looking over her glasses, giving Andy her usual inspection. “You look rested. Did you manage to terrorize all the children?” Miranda glances in the direction of the door.

Andy can’t help but grin and for a minute she forgets why she’s sitting here in the first place. “Yeah,” she says, “but then everybody started asking me questions so it got kinda boring.”

Miranda seems to consider this for a moment then says, “Well, it’s no wonder. Some of them have probably not seen such a thing before.” She nods towards Andy’s hoodie; specifically the front pocket.

Taking her lightsaber out, Andy sets it on the couch beside her and agrees. “True. But it got boring.”

Miranda merely hums then offers Andy a drink. They weren’t there before but now two cups of hot tea are right in front of them. Andy sits frozen. There is no way in hell she is drinking tea. Dream or not, she is _not_ drinking that.

Looking at her then the tea, Miranda sets the cup back down. “You dislike it?”

Andy shakes her head ‘yes’ then ‘no’. Honestly, she does like tea, or did. But now it’s just represents something evil that she’ll never be able to handle without freaking out.

“Umbridge,” Miranda plainly states and Andy nods. “You’ve had dealings with her?”

Again Andy shakes her head, but this time in a firm negative. “No,” she says. “But still—“

“Yes, I understand,” Miranda cuts her off then gets the most blissful smile on her face. “But…the Blood Quill. Quite amazing. I wonder at the carelessness with which this is handled,” she takes up the book again and holds it out for a second, “and I cannot help but think it would do Runway a world of good.”

Andy swallows hard. Miranda is probably right. No, she _is_ right. And there’s little doubt that the top of Andy’s hand (or worse) would say all sorts of things.

Before Andy starts to cry from phantom pain, Miranda reaches across the space between them and hands her a cup of coffee that has appeared out of nowhere.

“Try some,” she says, like the other night on her own couch. “Decaf, of course. It’s quite nice, really.”

Andy takes a sip, looking at Miranda the entire time. And it is nice; strong too. While Andy sips her coffee, Miranda (surprise, surprise) continues to talk. “I assume you’re wondering why I am here, Andrea. Honestly, it is all your doing.” Miranda waves a hand toward the other tables across the room. “You decided to come here. With your lightsaber.” At the end of her words, a faint smile appears on Miranda’s face. It’s as if she thinks the whole lightsaber idea is a good thing too, just like Andy does. And fun.

“There was a rather unique _creature_ here,” she continues. “Just before you came in. Floating on a pillow, no less. He had the most horrible skin tone. I’m unsure of what shade of _green_ it is actually; whatever it is, it is _horrid_. I’m certain he requires speech therapy as well. He hardly made any sense at all. And his ears. Surely there is something that can be done about that; I pray there aren’t more of him somewhere.”

Oh, she’s talking about Yoda. Andy puts her coffee cup down and picks up her lightsaber, feeling a little jealous that Miranda has actually seen him and Andy hasn’t. Then again, Andy hardly ever sleeps long enough so of course she hasn’t seen him.

“You mean Yoda,” Andy says.

“Is that his name?”

Andy rolls her eyes because Miranda has _got_ to already know that. She’s just got to.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Andy says, trying to not sound aggravated. “So, what did he say?” Because he _always_ has something to say, doesn’t he?

Miranda makes a weird face and says “Nothing earthshattering. Are you going to continue on at a glacial pace or are you going to ask me what you came to ask me?” She asks seriously, with her mask back in place. “I’d prefer you to get on with it because this establishment is an offence to my eyes. And dirty. I cannot believe I willingly sat down in this chair.”

Andy almost chokes on nothing but air. “Yeah, well…you know Aberforth.”

“Hardly,” Miranda sniffs. “But he will know plenty of _me_ if I don’t get out of here soon. This place is in need of lighter fluid and one well struck match.”

 _Crap_.

“Okay…” Andy tries to begin but not having finished that Felix Felicis potion on time is really starting to suck. _But_ , she came in here for a reason. And she might as well get on with it before Miranda decides to take off, or light a match. “Why did you let me off the hook?” Andy asks, nervously pushing her windblown hair behind her ears. She probably looks like shit right now.

“Off the hook?” Miranda looks at her in confusion. Either she’s never heard that term before or she’s playing stupid.

“You know, you didn’t make me go to the party,” Andy says, already feeling frustrated. “And you went yourself. You took care of it. Why did you do that?”

She all but clamps a hand over her mouth to keep from going any farther. Andy will ramble on forever if she lets herself and having Miranda use a silencio charm on her is _not_ something she wishes to experience. And then, Miranda says the wildest, most unexpected thing ever.

“You will find only what you bring in,” Miranda says quietly as she observes Andy who is completely dumbfounded by what has just come out of Miranda’s mouth.

_You will find only what you bring in?_

Andy suddenly feels like laughing her ass off. You will find only what you bring in? Miranda Priestly…is quoting Yoda. She’s quoting Yoda! Holy Fucking Shit. She’s quoting Yoda…

“Andrea.” Miranda leans across the empty space between them. “You could not go that party.”

Andy can’t even nod at this point because first there’s Yoda, and now they’re _really_ going to talk about that stupid party and He Who Must Not Be Named.

“You could not go, Andrea,” Miranda states again, more firmly this time. “There are just some things that we cannot do alone, or at all. You could not, so I went in your place.”

“But why?” Andy asks again because Miranda still hasn’t given her an answer. Well she has, in some way, but it’s just a riddle.

“Loyalty is one of the greatest things you _bring_ , Andrea. You bring loyalty. And I want you to find that. In _me_.” Miranda puts a hand to the center of her chest for emphasis. “The only way that is possible is through my own actions. My actions must, in a sense, mirror your own.”

Andy still doesn’t understand. In fact she wonders if there’s something in her cup besides coffee because everything is getting a little fuzzy. “I still don’t understand,” Andy says and naturally, Miranda rolls her eyes.

“I find it…necessary,” Miranda replies patiently. “It is a necessity that you find as much loyalty in me as I find in you. You have always been so to me. You could not go to that party and as someone who wishes to be loyal; I took care of it instead of forcing you to or sending someone else.

“You needed a break,” Miranda continues. “You’ve needed a _break_ for quite a while, in fact. We both know that. I’ve nearly run you into the ground, Andrea. A break…food, sleep, _time_ were all necessary. And I wanted you to have them, to have the help you needed. Because you are loyal.”

“But I—“

Miranda reaches out and puts a hand on Andy’s knee to stop her then tries to explain again. “It’s time that you find what you yourself have brought. Loyalty, love…many things and I want to be the one to give those things back to you, Andrea. I want to be the one…”

Well, Andy’s mind is blown. Totally blown and somewhere in this blown-up state of mind, she blurts out, “But I don’t, Miranda. I _don’t_ do that for you. I mean, I’m loyal but there’s nothing you can’t do. You do everything. You never need me.”

Miranda laughs. She laughs, even tosses her head back a little as she does it and Andy just stares at her. _Yeah_ , Andy _is_ loyal. She knows this; it’s no big surprise, but she doesn’t think she’s ever really been given the chance to _show_ that to Miranda. She never does anything for Miranda but what every other assistant does. There’s nothing special about coffee and errands and running around like a chicken with her head cut off all day. That’s just normal stuff. And love? How did she do that? When has she shown Miranda love? How did that happen and Andy not notice it? She sure in hell would _liked_ to have noticed it.

After laughing for way too long, Miranda does a one-eighty, and glares at Andy. “You allow yourself to believe far less than what is plainly in front of you, Andrea. There are, in fact, things I am less than capable of; on my own too…even if I don’t want to admit it. And you are always there. Granted, it _is_ work, but I’m not a fool. I’ve hardly a doubt that if I did not _require_ your presence at nearly everything I do lately…you would force me to drag you along. Especially lately.

 _Especially lately._ So it’s been hard? Lately, it’s been hard. And Andy’s been there for her… Miranda needed her to be. Yet, Andy still doesn’t believe it.

“You’re so tough though and you—“

Again Miranda interrupts her. “Stop talking before you make me believe I’ve been entirely wrong all this time. Andrea, I am not Darth Vader with a legion of Stormtroopers following along behind me. I am not bigger than life. What I am is small and fragile. I am scared, afraid…of many things and people. I just don’t allow anyone to see that. But you see it. Deep down you do, whether you’re ready to admit it or not, you see it and I think it scares you. The differences between what you _see_ and what you _know_ …scare you.”

Andy leans over and rests her elbows on her knees. As she rubs her face with both hands, she tries to come up with the truth but doesn’t need to because _that_ is the truth. She _is_ scared. The thought of Miranda crumbling under any circumstances scares the shit out of Andy. How do you handle that? Miranda Priestly. Crumbling. How do you carry that? The thought that Andy might not be able to is even scarier since she _does_ want to. She wants to be able to do that for Miranda. But ever since Paris, Andy has been afraid that she isn’t quite cut out for the job. Though she made a small attempt back then, that’s all it was: a scared attempt that Andy already knew would fail. And then she left or tried too anyway—which turned out to be utterly devastating; so devastating that she came back thirty seconds later. She couldn’t even stay away from Miranda for thirty damn seconds. Thank God. 

But if she makes a truly honest effort at it now, and fails, if she were to _ever_ fail Miranda, Andy knows she wouldn’t be able to live with that. So, ever since Paris, Andy’s chosen to make the practical and realistic choice, the _less_ dangerous choice by not putting her heart and soul into the job. And that isn’t going to work anymore. If Andy doesn’t let go of the fear of finding out that Miranda _is_ in fact small and fragile, that she _can_ actually crumble and need to be carried, then Andy will never have the chance she wants. And she _wants_ it. She wants the chance to really take care of Miranda. Not just get the coffee and do the errands while running around like a chicken with her head cut off; she wants to really do it. When it matters the most.

Before Andy can say or do anything, before she can even pick her head up and face the truth, face Miranda, a noise pierces the air around them. The sound of benches scraping the dirty floor as people quickly make their way toward the door, hit Andy as well and she knows this is trouble. And the noise just gets louder. She looks up finally; Miranda is standing above her and Andy quickly joins her, trusty lightsaber in hand.

“What’s happening?” Andy asks, hoping, for some reason that Miranda might know. “It’s not…”

“No. It’s not that. Those days are over,” Miranda says. “This is something else entirely, and besides, Umbridge is locked up, Andrea. You do not have to be afraid of her any longer.”

Andy takes a deep breath due to unashamed relief because, sometimes, she’s more afraid of Umbridge than anyone else. The place is almost empty now. Everyone is running, even Aberforth “I should go. You should go,” Andy says.

“ _You_ should.” Miranda nods toward the door.

The noise is getting louder and Andy has to yell. “You should too! I’m not leaving you here!”

“If you hurry, you won’t be!” Miranda yells and pushes her forward. “You aren’t leaving me if you hurry!”

Riddles. Andy officially hates them now but the noise is so loud. Something is wrong. “I don’t understand you,” Andy leans in so she doesn’t have to yell again. “But I’ll go.”

Andy kisses her, on the cheek at first but then on the lips because she honestly doesn’t know what’s happening outside. What if it’s like totally horrible or something and she doesn’t get back? What if it’s Death Eaters, Stormtroopers…something awful?

Miranda kisses her back and that is when Andy falls on the floor. Before she barely has time to feel Miranda kiss her, she falls on the floor…of her bedroom.

Analyzing what she’s just dreamt of  is forcefully pushed aside. Her cell phone is ringing, which means that has to be the noise she heard. And it’s getting even louder.

“Fuck…” Andy mumbles and crawls back onto the bed, grabbing for the phone. It’s hard to believe, and honestly she is surprised she recognizes the number on the display screen at all. It’s Miranda. On her home phone. A number that is never given out or used to call _anyone_ when it comes to business. _Never_. And here she is, at nearly eleven o’clock at night, calling Andy from her home phone.

As she presses the button to answer, Andy goes cold inside. If Miranda is calling from her this number, she knows something must be wrong. Something awful.

And she’s right.

\---

STAY TUNED! 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't supposed to post this until Saturday but work is hellish. I won't be around so I thought I'd upload early. Enjoy.

Chapter Five

“Miranda, what is it?” Andy asks; already back out of bed, searching for clothes.

In a tone Andy has never heard before, Miranda begins to weakly (and with a couple of false starts) tell her just exactly what that ‘something awful’ is.

“I…we...”

Miranda pauses. She can’t even say it yet, whatever it is, and Andy puts the phone on speaker so she can get dressed at the same time. In the background she can hear voices. A lot of voices and knowing how intensely private Miranda is when it comes to her home, Andy’s heart starts to pound. This is worse than she thought. Whatever she was thinking…it’s worse than that.

“Miranda, you have to tell me.” Andy says as she throws on her Empire Strikes Back t-shirt then her Gryffindor hoodie. “I’m coming but you have _got_ to tell me what’s wrong. _Now_.”

Andy can hear a door shut, then all the voices in the background stop. “I took them out. The girls…”

“I know,” Andy says as she ties up her converse sneakers. This weekend with the twins has been on the schedule for quite a while. “What else, Miranda.” She hates having to get forceful but this is the only way. Andy can tell she’s going to have to lead Miranda through this conversation. “Tell me. You’ve _got_ to tell me.”

“You’re coming, though?” Miranda asks like she’s already asked once before. Little does she know, she didn’t ask and never had to.

“I am. Right now. Please, just tell me, Miranda.” Andy pleads with her, bringing the phone into the living room so she can throw a few things from her purse into a small backpack. Carrying a Louis Vuitton handbag around while wearing an Empire Strikes Back t-shirt and a Gryffindor hoodie just doesn’t seem right and the task takes less than a few seconds to accomplish. After all, there is no wand, lightsaber or bottle of liquid luck to pack because those things don’t truly exist. Andy only has _Andy_ to rely on now. She is officially _it_.

Finally, apparently reassured that Andy is on her way, Miranda spits it out. Or tries. “We went out. The girls wanted to go shopping…and dinner. We haven’t in so long—“

“Are they okay?” Andy interrupts her. “Are you safe?” Because what if they’re not? What if that ‘something awful’ is _still_ happening? What if they need help? More help than Andy can give them right now from half way across the city.

“Yes, we are…yes.”

That’s when Andy forgets all about the elevator in her apartment and runs down the stairs because Miranda is lying. She’s lying; it’s in her voice, her tone. They might be physically safe but that’s not enough. That’s not the whole truth. Miranda is crumbling.

Before Andy can start to _demand_ answers (her brain has already skipped right over the begging phase), Miranda gets on with it. “We came home rather late,” she says with a shaky voice. “I went straight into the kitchen… I can’t even remember why now. The girls… One minute they were headed upstairs to put away their things…and then I heard Caroline scream.”

That nearly stops Andy. She’s running down the sidewalk, hoping to see a cab sooner rather than later but this _almost_ stops her. The thought of Caroline, evil little Caroline, screaming, is nothing short of painful.

“I started to run up the stairs and…Andrea,” Miranda’s voice suddenly becomes distant and hallow, like part of her missing. “Andrea, someone came into my house.” And this, this _does_ stop Andy. So hard, in fact, that she trips but rights herself just in time. “Someone was here. Everything…the girls rooms, my study…a lot of things. Someone came into my house, Andrea. My _home_. Our home…”

Finally hearing the real news puts Andy into overdrive and everything clicks into place. Fear does not exist anymore. Doubt over whether or not she will be able to do the job, is gone. She is ready to carry a very small, fragile and obviously terrified Miranda through whatever this event brings. She’s ready. Someone has fucked with Miranda (and her kids) in one of the worst ways possible, and Andy is ready.

A cab, thankfully, appears just past the market. “I’m in a cab, Miranda,” Andy says as she rips the door open and tells the driver were to go. “Just hang on, okay.”

“I am,” Miranda says and again it’s a lie. She is _not_ hanging on to anything right now, anything at all. “You’re coming, though? You’re on your way?”

If this were about _anything_ else, Andy would want to shake her. “Miranda,” she says very patiently, “I _am_. I’m in a cab. Right now. I promise you.”

“Oh…okay then. Hurry…”

Andy won’t get the chance to tell Miranda that she’d be there already if disapparating were truly possible or if she owned a hover bike. Miranda has already hung up the phone.

Her mind is running at top speed and Andy is barely able to concentrate on anything other than getting to Miranda but, instinctively, she knows there are many things to be taken care of; starting now.

Her first call is to Nigel. If Miranda were to _ever_ have someone she could call a ‘friend’ it would be him. The conversation is relatively short. He swears a lot at first, which is nothing new. In private, Nigel can and does curse like a sailor. But what _is_ new, are the threats he makes. Nigel is basically ready to kill someone. He demands an immediate update as soon as Andy can manage it and, of course, wants to be called right away if he’s needed at the house. Since Andy doesn’t know whether or not Miranda is going to attempt to make an appearance at work tomorrow (she’s hoping the answer to that is ‘no’) she tells Nigel to handle anything and everything Runway related like she’s been making such determinations her whole life. Miraculously, he listens, says “Yes, Andy”, (just like he does when Miranda is rattling off a bunch of shit to him) then asks for a job, just anything he can do to help.

Andy willingly gives him the job of handling Emily. She has no desire to do so because all Emily will do is try to take over. And this is Andy’s job. From here on out—this is Andy’s new job and she intends to keep it and sure as hell does _not_ need Emily to tell her how to do it. Apparently, Nigel senses the same and promises he won’t let Emily make a single phone call to Miranda or anybody else unless Andy specifically says it’s okay.

Her next call is to Leslie. She really isn’t sure about this move but there is absolutely no denying that the Press will be all over this, if they aren’t already. And Greg… He might use this. Or try too (over Andy’s cold and very dead body) and she wants to cut him off at the pass if she can. Leslie actually raises her voice and swears, both of which are extraordinary.  Usually, Leslie is the consummate professional (otherwise Miranda would have fired her years ago), almost an emotionless robot at times, filled with nothing but a calm voice and proper etiquette to the extreme. But right now she doesn’t seem to remember how to be that sort of person.

After a “Before I fucking kill _Greg_ in advance, I’m calling Miranda’s goddamned lawyer,” Leslie slams the phone down and Andy breathes a sigh of relief, even though the person she just spoke to is almost unrecognizable in tone and anger.

Leslie will keep her word. She always has and there’s no doubt in Andy’s mind that before daylight, every paper in the city will be reporting that everything’s totally cool, no one was hurt and it is business as usual for both Miranda _and_ the girls. Leslie will make this work. She’ll make it sound like it’s no big deal at all. She’ll fix it, and between her and the lawyers, Greg will miss completely the chance to use this in some dirty way.

Her third and final call is to Cara who seems to be wide awake and already pissed off about something. As such, her response is more volatile than Nigel and Leslie’s put together—but not nearly as surprising. Andy’s always known that deep down, Cara’s got a lot of spunk and hasn’t ever doubted that if the need arose—so would the real Cara. And apparently, Andy is finally meeting the _real_ Cara. And she’s a bit scary.

She makes several threats, “I will rip someone’s balls off before this is over,” and the best one of the night, “Nobody fucks with the bane of my existence and gets away with it.” Once Cara seems to be done, Andy asks her to come to the house. She’s unsure of this move also, but Cara is there so much, she might as well be a resident and will probably be able to help out more than anyone realizes.

By the time Andy gets off the phone with her, one thing is clear: When push comes to shove, there really are people that will follow Miranda to the ends of the Earth due to more than just professional gain. There are people that genuinely care about her, and Miranda is probably none the wiser.

The only reason Andy notices they’ve arrived at the townhouse is because red and blue lights reflect in the window. She looks up from her phone and goes cold again. The street is littered with police cars. “Fuck…” Andy and the cab driver mutter at the same time. She barely has the brainpower to grab her backpack and pay the guy before bolting from the car.

“Whoa…whoa!” An officer stops her before she gets to the door of the house, which is wide open; people are coming in and out. Somehow she managed to slip past three police cars a second ago, but getting _inside_ the house is, apparently, going to turn into a _thing_. But not for long.

Immediately, Andy steps forward again, only to be stopped—again. “Look, are you a resident?” The cop says; he is five times Andy’s size. “I can’t let you in otherwise. We’ve got an investi—“

Andy doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what the police are doing and cares even less about telling them who she is. Honestly, that never occurs to her. She’s going in. Without the cop’s approval, without a lightsaber, without a wand, without luck, Andy is going into the fucking house. Right now.

 “I’m going in,” Andy says, stepping forward. “So either _let_ me in, or go _fetch_ another ten of _you_ so you can _try_ to arrest me.”

The cop barely gets his mouth open an inch before she starts yelling, waking the one-half of this neighborhood that’s still asleep. And she only yells one word, one name: Miranda.

And holy shit, it works. Before she can _see_ her, Andy _hears_ her. Miranda’s voice gets closer and closer; she’s all but cursing and definitely letting NYDP’s finest know that they are not so very fine after all. There’s one last threat made, then Miranda appears.

They just stare at one another as Miranda stands in the doorway. In fact everybody stares. At them. It’s a little like Friday night with Miranda standing there fighting with her keys and the door handle while Andy just watched, brain turning to mush with each second, not realizing what was happening between them. But now Andy knows. She knows _exactly_ what’s happened to them and it is still happening.

But there is more than just _that_ going on this time. This time there is something else in Miranda’s eyes. For all intents and purposes, Miranda is spilling her guts out, right in the doorway of her home. Her eyes say that even though she needs Andy here right now, she is nearly disbelieving of the fact that Andy is actually standing here at all. Her eyes say that some part of her didn’t expect Andy to show up. Her eyes say that some part of her doubts Andy’s abilities and possibly even her motives.

It only takes Andy a second to realize that she’s partly to blame for this lapse in trust. While she’s been schooling herself in stuffing down certain ‘first inclinations’ and teaching herself how to make the more ‘practical and realistic’ choices, Andy has also been teaching herself how to hide and keep her face in check just about as well as Miranda does. Essentially, she’s been teaching herself to wear a mask. But right now, that mask has to come off and they’ve got to have an entire conversation about it right here, in a matter of seconds, in front of a bunch of cops and nosey neighbors.

So they have it. Andy takes her mask off and tries to silently convey that she’s here because she wants to be nowhere else and that she’d do it again and again and again. There’s not a mirror nearby so Andy can see what this expression looks like on her face, but whatever it does in fact look like, it seems to work. Miranda takes a breath, nods and that is all the conversation they need to have on that topic. 

Everyone has moved out of Andy’s way and since it’s clear that she can pass through, she does, confidently stepping into Miranda’s personal space—that invisible but well known about bubble that surrounds Miranda at all times. Fuck the cops. Fuck any media that might be hiding in some dark corner of the street. Fuck them all. She takes Miranda by the arm and pushes her back into the house since it doesn’t look like she can move, then takes Miranda’s hand, wishing she had time to simply focus on how good it feels to do so.

When Andy starts to drag her toward the kitchen, what surprises her is the force of Miranda’s grip. Instead of pulling away, Miranda’s fingers intertwine with Andy’s and her tight hold is painful. But it’s a welcomed pain because it means Miranda wants her close.

They reach the kitchen; it’s free of people and looks just fine. Nothing bad has happened in this room and apparently everyone is busy in other parts of the house. Andy takes Miranda by the shoulders and stands back to inspect her.

Everything about her is absolutely impeccable, except her eyes. In her eyes She is a wreck. She is shaken to the core. Someone has just come into Miranda’s home and taken away all sense of security she has. Because, honestly, this house is the _only_ thing Miranda has that is (or was) secure. Nothing has (until now) touched this house. It has been Miranda’s safe place for many, _many_ years.

Yes, work must be brought home and conference calls must be made sometimes, but this place is Miranda’s. She can be who she wants to be here. She can be who she really is. She can let Andy fall asleep on her couch and cover Andy in her own bathrobe. She can take Andy’s shoes off…

There is (or was) absolutely nothing to worry about here besides making sure Caroline and Cassidy didn’t tear the place down around her. Now all that is gone. And when it was taken from her, Miranda called Andy.

“It’s going to be okay, Miranda,” are the first words Andy says.

“No. It is _not_ going to be _okay_.”

Miranda’s words are hardly audible and it takes everything in Andy to not kiss her. Holding Miranda’s hand is one thing, but kissing her right now is an entirely different ordeal. That can’t happen yet. Not until Miranda feels safe again. And speaking of feeling safe—Andy doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around Miranda to hug her for the first time ever. It’s surreal, in a way, but there isn’t time to think about it. The first and only thing that matters right now is making Miranda feel safe.

Miranda, at first, appears to be unmoved by this caring gesture. She doesn’t wrap her arms around Andy. In fact she doesn’t even move. Miranda simply stands very still and straight in Andy’s arms…until finally, she relents. With a heavy sigh, her body relaxes the tiniest bit and her head drops down onto Andy’s shoulder. She doesn’t move her arms though and Andy is quick to realize that it’s because Miranda can’t. She is hardly standing at all, much less able to raise her arms. She is crumbling.

“It _will_ be,” Andy says, moving her hands to Miranda’s back to support her. “I promise you. It will be okay, Miranda. Now, what do you need?” Andy pushes Miranda up until she can look her in the eye. “From me?” She continues. “Right now, what do you need?”

For a moment Miranda closes her eyes. Andy can’t tell if this is to keep from crying or just to gather her thoughts, or both. There’s no way to tell so she keeps ahold of Miranda’s arms (because seriously, it looks like she might fall over at any moment) and lets her take her time. With her eyes still closed, Miranda finally makes her request.

“I need a tremendous favor.”

“Whatever it is, you got it.” Andy says, immediately. “You know that, Miranda.” Or she better. After the voiceless conversation they’ve just had in the street—in front of the cops, neighbors and who knows how many reporters—Miranda better know that Andy will do whatever is necessary.

As she finally opens her eyes, Miranda says, “Come upstairs with me first. I want to show you something.”

Without another word, Andy takes Miranda’s hand again and _again_ Miranda holds it tightly, lacing their fingers together as they make their way through the house.

 

STAY TUNED! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the "GUEST" (ffnet) giving "constructive feedback" that thinks this is "drowning" and that I need to "stick to Mirandy" and--"can Andy really spend so much of her waking hours constructing Star Wars and Harry Potter metaphors in her mind?"   
> 1\. Constructive feedback is always welcome but it never truly comes from someone hiding under the name "GUEST". You know you've probably got a profile. Man up and sign in. I won't ever respect anyone who can't sign in to give "constructive feedback". More importantly - when you hide you prevent the writer from having a conversation with you about your feedback. You just throw your two cents in and leave. Bravo--no respects given to that either. I will GLADLY discuss ANYTHING with ANYONE that can sign in and PM me like an adult. Trust me – I PM with some people on here like it’s a freakin’ cell phone text app.   
> 2\. If it's drowning – JUMP OFF THE SHIP. Although I must say...I don't have any life rafts handy. I gave mine to Rose (inside joke).   
> 3\. Stick to Mirandy - I can't even comment on that.   
> 4\. The White Queen tells Alice "Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." So yes---of course Andy has room in her brain for more than one thing at a time. As do we all. Or some of us. I certainly do. Thank God - otherwise I wouldn't even be alive today. Imagination is the key. Please, open your mind before you question what other brains are or are not capable of.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you in advance for your patience. My family is in a bit of a jumble right now. My late grandfather’s brother passed away on Friday and my partner’s grandfather passed away on Saturday. Tonight is my first night back at work since last Thursday and the shut-down is still in full swing. Needless to say – it is a miracle I found the time to post this chapter. With everything that is going on – my posting schedule will be thrown off a bit. My mother is having surgery next week so that also adds into the craziness. And I have to admit…with as happy as I am about this story in general, it feels odd to be posting pieces of it when I myself am not really happy at all right now. Hopefully that feeling will not last for long.

Chapter Six

On their way, Andy tries to ignore the fact that the living room is ten kinds of torn up. The television that normally takes up half of one wall is now on the opposite side of the room in pieces. Whatever was on the bookshelves and various tables is thrown all over the place and it’s difficult to tell if anything is actually missing or not in only a few seconds.

As they continue on, Andy realizes several paintings are gone from the staircase and hallways. And photographs, the few that Andy’s caught glimpses of from Miranda’s earlier Runway days...are missing.

Who would… Why would… Andy can’t focus on it right now but in the back of her mind, the fact that _photographs_ were stolen, will stick with her. Because really, who steals photographs? Paintings, Andy can understand. She’s seen the inventory records on the pieces Miranda owns and collectively they’re worth millions of dollars. But photographs? Work photographs of Miranda and a bunch of people Andy doesn’t even recognize? Who would want those?

They pass Miranda’s study quickly. Andy gets a glimpse of what is probably a crime scene technician, hard at work. Several, actually. When they get to the third floor (Andy’s never been on this floor) she notices more vacant spots on the walls and feels Miranda steadily grip her hand tighter.  And then they reach the girls room. The girls… _shit_. “Miranda, where are the girls?” Andy asks frantically, realizing that, so far, she hasn’t sensed them. Come to think of it, she hasn’t heard a peep out of Patricia either. “And Patricia?” She adds.

Miranda stops and turns slowly, “The girls are downstairs in the dining room,” she says. “Miraculously, it has been left as pristine as the kitchen. One of the detectives… She’s keeping them occupied.” Miranda nods her head in the direction of where the front door would be. “When I heard you outside… And Patricia had a weekend long spa appointment. Remember?”

“Oh,” Andy shakes her head and feels a little better even though that’s hard to imagine. Feeling better. She shouldn’t, and won’t in just a second.

Without another word, Miranda pulls her along. The door she stops in front of has a sign on it, drawn in crayon. It reads: CAROLINE in big loopy letters. There’s glitter on it too and all kinds of funky stickers.

 Miranda closes her eyes and opens the door.

It’s destroyed. Completely and totally destroyed. The spots where a television, several game systems and a computer look like they should be are vacant. Just as in the living room, all those things are broken and thrown in different directions. Caroline’s bed has been overturned and there’s just…well, everything is on the floor. Everything.

A lot of time was invested in this. Whoever is responsible probably knew Miranda and the girls would be gone for a long time and she’s willing to bet nearly every room is the same. And this isn’t just about expensive paintings either. If all you want is paintings and photographs, why take the time to tear up a little girl’s room like this? The sense that there is something else going on here, is unmistakable.

Swallowing down the fear that is starting to come up, Andy asks, “Cassidy? Her room is the same?”

“Yes, it is. But they have no idea. I didn’t allow them to get this far.” Miranda replies curtly, much more like herself than before.

But it’s a lie. The tone of her voice is a straight up lie. She’s standing in the middle of her child’s bedroom. A bedroom that has been Caroline’s since she was a baby; Andy can tell from the height marks and dates written on the wall in Miranda’s own handwriting. This is (or was) Caroline’s safe haven and it’s now in shambles. All the while, Miranda is standing here trying to figure out how to be all the scary and tough things Andy (and everybody else) thinks are the only ingredients Miranda is made of. And it’s not working.

Then Andy asks an even harder question. “And your room? Your bedroom?”

Miranda looks confused not only by the question, but the answer she is about to give. “No. Not to this degree,” she says and her face takes on an even stranger look. She’s truly puzzled. “My room is fine for the most part except for my closet. There’s a lot missing from there. A _lot_.”

“ _Clothes_?” Andy asks, looking just as confused as Miranda because so much of what she is given is custom made…specifically for her. For one person. Miranda Priestly, who is photographed nearly every single day of her life. In those clothes. That are made just for her. This is getting stranger by the second.

“Yes, I’ve been reduced to a meager collection of denim jeans and few tops. Can you picture it?” Miranda shakes her head and by the look in her eye, Andy can tell that she too is starting to think that for a robbery, something about this is odd. “Jewelry too, of course,” she continues, absentmindedly touching the delicate silver chain around her neck. “But the important things…my mother’s pieces are in the basement. They didn’t get that far.”

“How long were the three of you gone?”

“Nearly half the day and most of the night,” Miranda says as she walks over to Caroline’s mattress that is now on the floor. She sits down hard, like her knees are seconds away from giving out and as she lands there, Miranda lays back and stares at the ceiling. Since Andy doesn’t have any better ideas, she tosses her backpack on the floor and joins her, staying quiet, wanting to give Miranda a chance to tell this story without having to be prodded along.

“We shopped for hours. I have no idea what to get them for Christmas now,” Miranda almost laughs, it’s there at the edge of her words. “In between all that were lunch, dinner and three bookstores afterwards. _Three_ , Andrea. I never thought I’d say it but I’m ready to buy them each a Kindle. They’re an abomination, but after today…I’d rather not go through all that again. But can you imagine…not holding a book?”

 “No, I really can’t but it seems like the idea is catching.” Andy says, willing to wait just a little longer before she tries to steer the conversation toward the intended goal.

Miranda makes a noise of disgust, of course. “God help us if Runway heads in that direction. I’ve heard talk of it…magazines, on those _things_. Our own people can barely scan the Book when I need it—“ 

Andy catches Miranda waving a hand in the air and reaches out to grab it without thinking. Their hands link together and fall into the empty space on the mattress between them. This feels completely normal, and thank God, it doesn’t stop Miranda from going on about her hatred for E-Readers but for a millisecond.

“What makes _anyone_ think they can put an entire issue of a magazine on one of those things?” Miranda asks, probably not even realizing that she is running her thumb over the top of Andy’s hand. “And I swear, I will _quit_ before that’s all there is. Runway…on an E-Reader—“

Before Miranda can get herself more worked up than she already is over things that don’t even come close to mattering right now, Andy stops her. “Miranda,” she says, squeezing her hand to make Miranda shut up. “I really, really don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I never thought _this_ would happen either.”

_Crap…_

“What if…whoever this was, had still been in the house?” Miranda’s voice cracks and with it, people can be faintly heard below them, reminding Andy that they are not alone. “Up here?” Miranda finishes, and her words weigh a ton.

Andy knows they can ‘what if’ this whole night to death though, and if she lets her, Miranda will no doubt ‘what if’ this situation until she sees it as _her_ fault and God knows what else. But there is _no_ way she is going to allow Miranda to travel down this path.

“They weren’t,” Andy states firmly. “They _weren’t_ , and that’s all that matters. The girls are safe. You’re safe. I told you, everything will be okay.”

Without looking, she feels Miranda shake her head. “No, I have serious doubts on that, Andrea. Nothing feels ‘okay’. My daughters are terrified. My home is a wreck. The things…don’t matter so much; they can be replaced, of course…well, most of them. But I’m unsure if this house will ever feel the same again. I’m just not sure. And I’m not sure what to do either. About anything. And there are _so_ many people in my house…”

“That’s why _I’m_ here,” Andy says, trying to sound reassuring. It doesn’t work.

“Which was wrong of me,” Miranda whispers. “To ask.”

This, definitely, makes Andy sit up and she can’t help but glare at Miranda. They are _not_ going to do this. Andy is _not_ going to let Miranda backtrack on anything, at least not right now. Right now she needs Andy. Later on, if she doesn’t, then Andy will figure out how to deal with that. But for now, she is here and she is seeing this through. Completely. And if that means hugging Miranda or holding her hand because it feels right…or anything else, then Andy is going to do it.

“You knew I would come, Miranda,” Andy says, deciding against reminding Miranda that she didn’t really ask Andy to do anything at all. She never had to. “That’s why you called. Isn’t it?”

Miranda does nothing but shut her eyes and shakes her head in confirmation. And Andy totally gets it, why she shuts her eyes. Miranda, admitting she needs something, or someone, probably won’t ever be easy.

 “And you know I’ll take care of whatever it is you need right now, don’t you?”

Again, Miranda keeps her eyes closed and shakes her head. One single tear sneaks out from the corner of her eye.

“So tell me,” Andy asks as she bravely brushes the tear away with the back of her hand. The softness of Miranda’s skin takes her breath away and she has to pull herself together before continuing.  “What do you need, Miranda?” She is finally able to ask.

What Miranda needs is something Andy totally does not expect.

“The girls can’t stay here tonight,” Miranda says, her voice is hollow again, like on the phone earlier and Andy hates it.

“I’ll make a phone call and get a hotel reserve—“

“No,” Miranda stops her. “This is the favor I need, Andrea. And, of course, you can say no… But the girls hate hotels and considering I’ve never slept in one that wasn’t in the pocket of the Press in some way, I was wondering if they could stay with you. It would only be for tonight and I just…”

That’s all the _asking_ Miranda gets to do for the rest of the night. In fact, for the moment, she doesn’t get to say another word because Andy has her right index finger on Miranda’s lips. 

The answer to this is incredibly simple. There isn’t a need to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Andy only has one thing to say before taking over. Completely. This entire nightmare is about to be Andy’s to deal with because Miranda has seriously lost her damn mind if she thinks, even for a minute, that Andy is taking her kids…and not _her_ right along with them.

“You’re coming too.”

Miranda opens her eyes immediately. “I have to stay here, Andrea. The house. The house is—“

“Will be fine.” Andy says firmly, not about to back down.  “It will be _fine_. I wouldn’t pack everyone away without making sure the house is secure, Miranda. Besides, that’s what the cops are for and if it would make you feel better, we’ll call Darren. You have his people around anyway when the Press is…whatever, you know? It’d probably be a good idea no matter what.”

Before either of them can breathe another word, Miranda’s name is heard all the way up here on the third floor. It’s Cara. And she sounds _really_ pissed off.

“Oh, dear God.” Miranda mutters under her breath, hauling herself up off the mattress much faster than Andy. “You called Cara?” She asks as she rushes out the door with Andy right behind her, struggling to get her backpack on.

“Yeah,” Andy says this like it should have been completely obvious to Miranda from the start. “And I called Nigel and Leslie too.”

While they quickly make their way down stairs, Miranda asks, “Why on Earth did you call Nigel?” It doesn’t surprise Andy that she didn’t say a word about Leslie. At least Miranda’s together enough to know that _that_ was totally necessary.

“Because, Miranda.” They both pause on the stairs for a second to look at each other but then hurry up again because it sounds like Cara is two seconds away from being arrested. As they hurry down the last bit of stairs, Andy finishes. “Whether you want to admit it or not, he’s your friend.” When they reach the bottom Miranda gives her a sideways glance but says nothing in return.

They turn the corner and head toward the foyer then Andy immediately comes to a halt as Miranda continues on toward the door. “Stop!” She calls out loudly to the police officer at the door, and in response to that, the twins come bursting out of the dining room and Cara just gets louder.

“You’re gonna let me in this goddamn house right now!” Cara yells. “And I mean _right_ now.”

Just before the twins are able to make it past Andy, she catches them by their shirt collars. They say nothing (yet anyway) but do stand closer to Andy than they’ve ever been. In fact, each of them grab onto the sides of her backpack like they need an anchor, something stable in the middle of all this uncertainty. “Wait here until your mom gets done,” Andy tells them, wondering how awful this is really about to be. But, thank God, it gets no worse.

Suddenly everything goes quiet and then Miranda and Cara emerge from the doorway. Miranda has Cara by the arm but that lasts for only a second more when she sees Caroline and Cassidy. Andy lets them go and the three practically collide. In between hugs and questions, Cara inspects them from head to toe. While all this is going on, Andy is eventually able to tear her eyes away and focus on Miranda again; finally realizing they’re standing so close to one another that their shoulders are touching.

Miranda looks like she’s about to cry as she watches her children hug Cara again for the hundredth time and listens to them tell her all about how ‘bad people’ came into their house and ‘made a really big mess’.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Andy whispers as she puts her hand on the small of Miranda’s back.

Miranda inhales sharply and straightens her posture. It’s almost as if she’s forgotten for just a moment that they are not alone or something. Or maybe it’s that in Andy’s words and in her touch, Miranda is strengthened? Andy hopes that one day she’ll find out the answer for sure.

Whatever version of herself that was about to cry, is gone in the next moment and when Cara finally looks at her, Miranda _almost_ looks like everything is completely normal. Like she isn’t crumbling at all.

The first words out Cara’s mouth are, “How long are all these people going to be here? This is aggravating. Do they even know what they’re doing?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea, Cara.” Miranda says, clearing her throat afterwards. “I suppose they will be here as long as it takes…”

“Right.” Cara says, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry. How are you, Miranda?” She continues, surprisingly coming forward and to hug her. Of course, Miranda doesn’t return the embrace. Just like in the kitchen with Andy, she stands perfectly still. The only difference here is that Miranda does not eventually put her head on Cara’s shoulder. Even though it’s such a small, meaningless thing, it makes Andy feel good. The shoulder thing was just for her.

Finally Miranda moves to back away. “Oh, I’ve had better days,” she says sarcastically. “Why you’re here, I can’t imagine, but I’m sure there’s good reason for it.” Miranda looks over at Andy with questioning eyes.

Andy nods. “She’s here more than anybody else, Miranda. It might help. Cara’s got a clearer head than you right now… I’m sorry to say.”

Miranda doesn’t look pleased by this assessment but doesn’t argue. What she does argue about though is that as soon as the detective, who was keeping the girls occupied in the dining room, figures out exactly who Cara is, she wants to interview her. She wants to know where Cara’s been all day. She wants to know who can verify the answers to all her questions. She wants, wants and wants…and Miranda is not impressed.

“I highly doubt that is necessary,” Miranda glares at the woman. Her name is Teresa, Detective Teresa Henley. Her complexion is about as pale and flawless as Miranda’s; she is tall and thin with hair that is darker and longer than Andy’s.

“Cara has been my employee for many years,” Miranda continues on after glaring some more. “She is entrusted with my children. I can assure you; she had nothing to do with this.”

Andy can’t quite figure out what to focus on. The fact that Caroline and Cassidy now look pissed off and like they want to kill Detective Henley for thinking Cara could be involved in this too, or the look on Cara’s face. It’s quite possible that Miranda has never given her a verbal complement in the whole eight years of her employment and she looks shocked.

“I realize that, Ms. Priestly,” Detective Henley says, holding out a hand. “But we’ve got to cover all the bases. It won’t take long. And I’m afraid I’ll have to question your assistant.” She motions toward Andy. “From what I understand, she has access to the house also? On a daily basis? And you have other assistants, don’t you?”

Miranda officially blows up. “Absolutely not!” She says loudly, so loudly that even the girls look a little scared. “You may question Emily all you like, but you will not question Andrea. Will _not_. Have I made myself cl—”

Before Miranda works herself up into an honest-to-God fit, (as if she hasn’t already) Andy steps in between her and Detective Henley. This question and answer session technically shouldn’t happen without a lawyer but either way, Andy’s answers won’t change, so what the hell? “It’s okay,” she says. “Seriously, it’s all good.” Andy turns to Cara and looks at her, praying she will play along. “Isn’t it Cara?”

Cara plasters a smile to her face and plays along just fine. “I’m happy to help in whatever way I can.”

Reluctantly, Andy leaves Miranda and reluctantly, Cara leaves the girls. They follow Henley (she insists they drop the title right away) into the kitchen while Miranda heads back into the dining room with the girls. Once there, they answer all the usual, boring questions you’d imagine someone in this situation would have to answer.

Fortunately for Cara, she’s been a million places this weekend with all kinds of people around to prove it if necessary. Andy, on the other hand, has only been to the grocery store on Saturday. It doesn’t seem to cause Henley much concern, though. Maybe, based upon Miranda’s reaction, she realizes that Andy isn’t part of the mystery? Who knows? Honestly, Andy doesn’t really care.

“I want to see everything,” Cara says all the sudden and both Andy and Henley look at her in surprise. She turns to Henley again and says, “Are you deaf? I want you to show me everything. I want to see what’s gone on here for myself. I know every inch of this house and I want to see it. Right now.”

Henley raises her eyebrow and the way she sizes Cara up reminds Andy of Miranda. After a second or two go by, it seems as if she realizes Cara isn’t the type of person to back down and it’s got to be obvious that Cara should see everything anyway. After all, that’s the reason she’s here.

“Okay, I’ll take you both through the house,” she says. “Apparently, Miranda trusts you.”

Andy’s seen a lot of it already and as much as she ought to be paying attention to every word that comes out of Henley’s mouth, she tunes it out for the most part, taking everything in visually.

Cara is busying making remarks on the things that are either gone or completely trashed when she stops abruptly and goes toward one corner of the living room. While Andy and Henley stare, Cara bends down, picks something up and beats it on the carpet once to remove remaining broken glass. It is a picture of Miranda and the girls. Silently, she puts it back on the fireplace mantel where it belongs and Andy finds herself about two seconds from crying. She hopes like hell Miranda truly does appreciate Cara.

Unlike Andy, Cara’s face is not filled with sadness. It is filled with determination. “You figure this out.” Cara points a very authoritative finger at Henley, who raises an eyebrow again. “And you figure it out quickly,” she continues, putting her hands on her hips. “ _And_ I want all these people out of here. I have a house to put back together.” Cara waves a hand through the air then returns it to her hip. “Those little girls need their home back as soon as possible.”

Henley steps forward and in an attempt to pacify Cara, she says, “Well you can’t have it both ways; we have a job to do here. The evidence doesn’t last forever, as I’m sure you’re aware. Whatever we find right now might very well be all there is. Let us do our job. We’ll turn the place back over to you as soon as we can.”

“Oh, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to let you do your job,” Cara glares at her. “I want you to do your job. Very well, in fact. Now show us the rest.”

Before Andy leaves the room, she turns to glance again at the picture Cara put back in place. There’s nothing about it that is familiar to Andy. Well, the setting—she can tell they’re in the Hamptons. Beyond that nothing is familiar. Caroline and Cassidy’s faces are filled with more joy and happiness than Andy’s ever had the privilege to witness. And Miranda… Andy can’t say for certain who this _really_ is in the picture. Sure it looks like Miranda, kind of. But she’s so happy. So carefree. Andy’s never seen this version of Miranda.

There’s no telling what sort of potion Andy would have to brew to bring about the same result, or how great her power within the Force would have to be. Lucky for her, she needs neither of those things. Andy is fully equipped all on her own. 

 

STAY TUNED!

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the girls should already have Kindles by now. I don’t care.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

They spend very little time surveying the girls' rooms. It's almost like Cara can't handle seeing it right now and Andy is in complete agreement. The mere sight of it makes her want to vomit.

There is one place they spend a lot of time in, though: Miranda's study. As soon as they enter, Cara sits down on the couch, which seems pretty odd to Andy. By the look on Henley's face, this seems odd to her too. A few minutes pass with Andy simply standing in one spot, careful not to touch anything, while Cara simply continues to sit there. Then Andy gets it. Cara is replaying things out in her mind.

"Followed..." Cara says this abruptly, more to herself than to Andy or Henley. "They might have been followed. It _is_ possible," she continues. "Saturday. Today. To see when they'd be gone the longest. God… someone could have been watching the house for ages." Cara stands and begins to pace and mumble to herself. Andy glances over at Henley who has a look of pure amusement on her face. It's clear to them both that with enough luck, Cara could actually be the one to figure this out. Not the police. But even so, the thought of Miranda and the girls being followed…for any length of time, makes Andy feel sick again.

Cara stops in the middle of the floor, pointing and snapping her fingers toward Henley like it's some sort of weird sign language; a language that Henley understands, because she immediately pulls out a notepad from her back pocket and a pen from her shirt.

"Go," Henley tells her. "Just say whatever comes to mind. Anything at all. No matter how small you think it might be."

And Cara does.

It's hard to believe but there are, surprisingly enough, things going on in Miranda's life that Andy knows nothing about. Weird, huh? Even stranger? There are, surprisingly enough, things going on in Miranda's life that she willingly handles all by herself. Perhaps Andy has been underestimating Miranda? Well…honestly, she figured that out on Friday, but whatever. This is all still pretty shocking news to hear.

It seems that she got the bright idea a few weeks ago to have a T1 line installed and high-quality equipment set up in her study so she could have video conferences at home since she is about to start spending more time…at _home_. And she did all this on her own. Miranda made the calls, scheduled it, and paid for it — all by her little self. And Andy had no idea. No clue at all. Oh, and the best part? Miranda also had security cameras installed recently. Of course, Andy's a little perplexed as to why Miranda is just _now_ getting security cameras set up around the place, but knows it will be pointless to ask. If Miranda didn't find that kind of thing necessary ages ago, then there was just no need. Or that's at least what Miranda would tell her. And Cara had no answer as to why all this had recently taken place because (as she reminded Andy) Miranda never explained herself.

The police know about the cameras by now, but they're of no use. The video feed is wirelessly transmitted to and stored on a DVR system in the study and it is nowhere to be found. Whoever did this, might not have given a damn about expensive electronics but they sure as hell cared enough to take the DVR. And it is… _was_ well hidden too, very well hidden.

The rest of the tour is brief and goes by in a blur with Cara and Henley chattering away the entire time like long lost pals. When they finally come back down to the first floor, Miranda and the girls aren't in the dining room anymore. They're in the kitchen where Miranda is doing one of the most normal things in the world. She's sitting at the table with Caroline and Cassidy; they're systematically pulling apart Oreo's, eating whichever sections they prefer. For a moment Andy can't even move, but then she sees someone else at the table. _Leslie_.

Cara, who is right behind her, gasps and says, "Oh, fuck" under her breath.

Everybody turns to look at them; it's obvious that Cara's words weren't said so quietly after all. Since that's the case, Andy turns around too, looking for an answer as to what Cara's deal is. Cara doesn't say a thing. She just keeps staring at Leslie. In fact everybody just keeps staring.

Finally Miranda breaks the silence. Turning to Leslie, she says, "Oh, will you go on. This is ridiculous."

Right away Leslie jumps up from her chair like it's suddenly caught fire and comes toward them. Andy quickly moves out of the way because from the look on Leslie's face, she might find herself run over. Moving out of the way turns into sitting in the now empty chair that is by Miranda…because she holds out her hand, silently asking Andy to sit there.

Unlike all the choices Andy has been making (or running away from) lately, there's no need to figure out what the practical, realistic or dangerous one is. Andy already knows what to do.

Once she gets over how awesome this is, Andy remembers to care about what's going on with Leslie and Cara again. And holy shit…they're hugging. They know each other? Andy's shocked. The twins seem shocked as well but don't open their mouths since they're stuffed with cookies.

Before Andy can even think about asking Miranda the obvious question, Cara pulls away from Leslie—who looks amazing, of course. Like Henley, she is tall and thin, very model like. Her hair is blonde though and as usual, in a tight twist. Nothing is out of place and she definitely doesn't look like she should at nearly midnight. But while she might look impeccable as always, Leslie is certainly not acting like it.

"What are you doing here?" Cara asks, wide eyed, clutching Leslie by the arms. "You were supposed to stay at…"

There's a long pause then Leslie comes out with the answer to Andy's unasked question. "It is alright, Cara. Miranda knows."

Cara's forehead scrunches and she raises an eyebrow. "Since when!? Just now? I thought we agreed… You always said… Oh, my God!" She stops, throws her hands up into the air then puts her hands on her hips.

"Cara, calm down." Miranda sounds exasperated and a little bit like she wants to laugh when Cara starts up again; which is thrilling and a lot better than what she sounded like earlier, that's for sure. "I've known for quite a while," she continues.

Finally Andy can't help herself anymore and neither can the twins. The three of them say, "They're _together_?" at the same time.

Miranda looks around the table—again like she wants to laugh—and shakes her head, then turns her attention back to Cara. "Leslie told me. She was afraid if you happened to blurt it out one day…that I would fire you. We discussed it. You haven't been fired. It's a non-issue. So, as I said, calm down. Please."

Cara doesn't laugh at all or even look relieved. In fact she looks like she wants to hit somebody. "Why didn't you tell me she knew?" Cara asks Leslie, looking seriously pissed off.

But Leslie takes it in stride, turning herself back into that professional person Andy's so much more familiar with. "Cara," she says slowly. "You did not need to know I spoke with Miranda. It currently would have been of no benefit to you."

"Currently? No benefit? That's not even an answer!" Cara says, glaring. "And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were staying at home?"

The glare has no effect. Instead of backing down, Leslie straightens her posture even more and squares her shoulders. "It was unreasonable not to approach Miranda. She is, after all, the single reason why we met. As the situation was…a result of my actions, I felt that it was my responsibility to do so. Whether you agree or not, is irrelevant. And I am here, because you haven't been answering your phone. We agreed you would. You haven't been. So here I am. It was the logical choice."

To avoid saying anything stupid in the midst of all these revelations, Andy reaches across the table and steals an Oreo; so does Miranda. While they all wait for Cara to quit bitching at Leslie, Caroline and Cassidy surprise the hell out of Andy by coming around the table. Cassidy leans against Miranda on one side and Caroline…does the same with Andy. For a moment it causes her brain to stop working; so much so that she can't even remember how to pull an Oreo apart. They've never been as close to Andy as they have been tonight.

"You okay?" Andy asks Caroline quietly.

" _Nope_." Caroline says matter-of-factly as she scrapes the icing off of a cookie, handing Miranda the other parts. "But cookies make everything better."

For a ten year old, Caroline definitely knows how the world works because she's right. Cookies can solve just about any problem.

Before Andy has a chance to agree with her, Caroline asks the question of all questions. "Is my room messed up?" She doesn't look at Andy as she asks and Andy can tell it's just to keep from crying. It's quite possible that Caroline is a tiny replica of her mother.

The thing to worry about here is if Miranda hasn't told them, should Andy? What choice should she make? By the look in Caroline's eyes (she's finally looking at Andy now) no matter what Miranda might think, Caroline deserves to know. In the long run, telling lies about what's going on won't help anybody.

To avoid giving the conversation away to anyone that might hear (even though Cara is _still_ bitching at Leslie), Andy simply nods. "But we'll fix it, okay?"

Caroline takes a deep breath and, of course, purses her lips. But then her bottom lip begins to give her away and starts to tremble. Even though they've never done this before either, and it might not even be welcome, Andy takes a chance and wraps an arm around Caroline. Unlike Miranda, the concept of returning the embrace is easy for the little girl and Andy breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that regardless of what might happen later on, it's important both the girls trust her.

Once Caroline has her tiny mask of indifference back in place, she whispers in Andy's ear, "You missed breakfast."

 _Crap_.

Now is really _not_ the time for anyone to hear this conversation either, so Andy simply says, "Won't happen again," and prays Caroline goes easy on her.

And, thank God, she does. "Cool," Caroline says and that's that.

Miranda catches Andy's eye eventually; Caroline is still hugging her loosely. There's nothing said, just an eyebrow raise and soft smile between them and Andy is thankful Miranda seems to approve.

For a minute or two more, Cara continues to bitch a little then demands that since Leslie's here, she may as well be of good use and make sure everyone is doing their job properly.Whatever Leslie's reply is, Cara does _not_ like it and decides to sit down and have some Oreo's too, since she's obviously not getting her way. In turn, Leslie simply stands behind her and Andy can tell she must be counting to a hundred before she opens her mouth again.

After over half the bag of cookies has been decimated and there's been nothing but silence in forever, Cara asks, "You're really fine with it?" looking at Miranda.

Miranda sighs. "Of course, I'm fine with it. It makes no difference to me. And the girls are fine as well. Aren't you girls?" Miranda asks them and they nod enthusiastically, like this is the coolest thing they've ever heard in their lives. Perhaps it is. "Isn't that what you really want to know?" Miranda asks Cara. Andy figures she's dead on with that because Cara's eyes close for a second. "They had no idea," she continues. "Until tonight, but they look fine to me, Cara. I'm sad to say that reality television has taught them much."

At this, Cara's nostrils flare and she pulls the bag of Oreo's away from the twins. They gasp and Andy is totally confused. With a finger pointed their way, Cara says, "I told you to stop watching that crap! No more cookies."

They start to whine; Miranda stops them with a look of death and Caroline gives Andy's arm a tight squeeze as she continues to lean against her. Leslie makes a funny noise and coughs, getting that same look of death from Cara in return. She immediately slips her mask of perfection back on and it's official, there's no way in hell the night can get any weirder, not to mention emotionally charged.

Then again, Andy is no fool. She knows that statement will prove to be nothing but a lie because what's going to happen when she gets home to her apartment with Miranda and two children in tow? What's going to happen when everything is quiet and the reality of what has happened here tonight…between her and Miranda, sinks in just a little bit further?

Sleep will be lost. Andy has no doubt about that.

Soon enough the question of where Miranda and girls will stay the night, is brought forth by Cara. From the thoughtful look on Leslie's face, Andy can tell that _she_ has already been told. Andy can also tell that Leslie thinks she ought to be the one to answer.

"They're staying with me." Andy says, feeling territorial for some strange reason.

Cassidy moves away from her mother just enough to look at Andy with wide eyes, Caroline and Miranda give away no reaction at all, but Cara's mouth is hanging open. Shutting it finally, she raises an eyebrow and she and Andy stare at each other. It's unclear what else there is to say on the subject. They're staying with Andy. Period. And just like with Emily, Andy will not allow Cara to overrule her or allow her to take over in this matter. Dealing with the house might be one thing, but Andy's dealing with Miranda. This is her job.

"Well, Andy," Cara smiles brightly and starts to get up from the table. Andy can see something else behind her smile though and swallows against the feeling it causes. "Let's go call Nigel," she says to Andy. "There's no way anyone will be allowed to pack a bag…if any could be found in all this mess. He'll be able to help. Leslie, why don't you make yourself useful for a change and call Darren?"

Without a word of objection from Leslie or Miranda, Andy gets up from the table, knowing she and Cara are probably about to have one hell of a talk.

TO BE CONTINUED

Note: I know...this chapter is short and boring. Sorry about that.  

 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Out of everything that’s gone on so far tonight, calling (from the laundry room of all places) to ask Nigel to pack a bag for Miranda and the girls is the easiest thing ever. Of course, he’s thrilled to have a job finally and there are plenty of things at Runway for Miranda. Incidentally, there are a wide range of children’s clothes on hand as well, due to a recent family themed shoot in the park. As Andy rattles off to him where her spare key is hidden in her desk and her address, she watches as Cara paces, with her hands on her hips, and it’s more than a little obvious that she’s got a couple things she can hardly wait to say.

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Cara says immediately after Andy ends the phone call. “And I kinda don’t want to know… But then again,” Cara looks at Andy and there are lasers in her eyes, “I do want to know. You might not think it’s any of my business, Andy, but it is.”

“So I gathered.” Andy says, unable to help herself. She isn’t in the mood to fight, but then again, if it’s what Cara wants, then Andy might just give it to her.

“Yeah, so you gathered,” she says under her breath. “But you know what, Andy? Every time someone new comes along, I get to pick up the pieces. Or try to. It’s not easy. So many times,” Cara continues, leaning against the washing machine. “Whether Miranda will admit it or not, she’s been disappointed over and over. Whatever you’re doing…don’t do that, Andy. Don’t be another disappointment to her. I really can’t watch it again.”

Who knows what is right to say? Or wrong? Since there’s no way to know, Andy’s left with little choice other than to say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m not someone new, Cara,” Andy says softly. “I’ve been here a long time.”

Cara chokes out a laugh that seems to be filled with nothing but bitterness. “You know what?” She says, “You’re right. You have been around a long time. I just didn’t know there was…” Cara pauses and shrugs, “more to it.”

“Well, there is. I mean…not until recently. Like real recently.”

“As in—you don’t really know what in the fuck is going on, do you?” Cara rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I think I have a pretty good idea, Cara,” Andy says quickly, not really wanting to entertain any feelings of doubt. And God help them all if she asks Andy exactly why it is that she is so sure. Like Andy can really tell Cara that Miranda all but invited her into her bed…for sleep or not? No, that little tidbit will remain between her and Miranda for the next millennium.

“You might think you do. But you _don’t_. This is different and I doubt you’re ready for it.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“ _No_.” Cara looks at her like she’s stupid. “Not because of that, you idiot.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you could explain, Cara.” Mainly because Andy feels like she knows Miranda pretty well by now, but could still use all the help she can get.

Cara groans, like she doesn’t really want to say any of this. “Okay…okay. For starters—and I hope you know this is not really my place, but…”

“I know, I know, Cara. But please…” Andy begs.

“She’s dated a woman before.” Cara blurts out.

Andy feels her eyebrows just about reach the ceiling. Whatever Cara was going to say, Andy never expected _that_. “Oh.” Is all she can say.

“Right,” Cara nods. “ _Oh_. But that’s not important. It didn’t last long,” she continues, waving a hand like she’s trying to make less of what they’re talking about. “I knew right away that it wasn’t going to work; just like I’ve known about the rest,” Cara says then gets a funny look on her face. “It’s not like Miranda’s been out with tons of people, though,” she says quickly. “It’s just that I’ve always been able to tell she tries to force herself to get into whoever it is and it never works. Which means she just wasted time, effort, hope… And Stephen was the worst of all. I don’t know why, but she really wanted that to work, and then it didn’t.”

“It was because of the girls,” Andy says, hardly able to believe she didn’t see that from the start. “When she told me about the divorce, that’s why she was really upset.”

“That makes sense,” Cara nods. “Which is probably why she’s always _trying_. I don’t know. Maybe she feels obligated or something. But, Andy, she’s not forcing this. Whatever this is with _you_ —it’s not forced or out of obligation to the girls. For some _silly_ reason this is just about _you_. In fact, I’d say she’s tried to keep herself from it.”

Even though Andy understands what Cara means, she has to know for sure. “What do you mean?”

Cara, of course, rolls her eyes again. “You know what I mean. Miranda is probably scared to death! This might be the first time she’s actually in… Well… And _God_ , I guess I should’ve gotten a clue a long time ago but Friday night, the way you two were looking at each other at the door. The way _she_ looked at you,” Cara motions toward her, looking frustrated. “Like she just can’t stop herself anymore.”

“I can’t help it either. Not now.” Andy says, feeling her heart swell.

“Oh, Christ on sale, Andy! Don’t go fall in love with her just because of what’s going on!”

 _Huh_? Andy has no idea what that means. Well she knows what the second part means. But not the first.

“Christ on sale?” Andy asks, knowing her facial expression couldn’t be more twisted.

“Don’t look at me like that. Blame Archer. Not me!”

“Who the fuck is Archer?”

“Never mind who he is!” Cara practically screams, throwing her hands into the air. “Just don’t fall in love with her because of all this. Because of tonight.”

“Jesus, I’m not, okay! I wasn’t even talking about that.” Andy rubs her forehead, searching for the right words when really, there are none. There is no way to correctly explain why it’s taken so long or why it’s happening now. It just is. “Friday... It’s like… Cara, we just can’t help it anymore. I don’t know what else to say other than what happened tonight has nothing to do with it.”

They go back and forth like this for about ten more minutes but finally, Cara seems to believe that Andy’s not kidding around, and with a smile she points out, “Neither of you even heard me say goodnight.”

Immediately, Andy feels her face heat up. “Oh, I heard you, Cara.” She looks down at the floor then at Cara with a smile of her own that she can’t hold back. “Miranda probably heard you too. We were just…busy. Mentally busy.”

Cara manages to laugh, “So I _gathered_ ,” repeating Andy’s words from earlier. “I guess there’s nothing else to say then. They’ll be safe with you tonight. I know that much at least.”

A heavy weight lifts from Andy’s chest that she didn’t even know was there. Having Cara’s approval means a hell of a lot more than she realized it would. “Thanks Cara. I mean it. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Cara says, turning toward the door to head back into the kitchen. “These next few days will be your test. Pass for fail. There’s no in between when it comes to them, Andy. Just know I’ll be watching and if you hurt her, God help you.”

All Andy really hears is, _“Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.”_

And Cara is right. Yoda’s right too. Andy can’t fail because if she does, there won’t be a second chance.

There’s no time to reflect on the possibility of failure though because Darren and his security team have arrived and as it turns out, Henley and Darren know each other. They go ‘way back’ and somehow that makes Andy feel a little better about things. Like there’s a team factor here that will make things easier or something.

Miranda stays close to her while they listen to the detective give Darren the rundown and even though Miranda seemed to be in better spirits just a while ago, something is wrong (besides everything else). She can just sense it radiating off Miranda and onto her and Andy knows that she won’t be able to resist trying to fix it.

While Henley goes on and on about things she and Miranda already know, Andy takes this moment as her chance. Leaning over slightly she says, “What’s the matter?” without looking at Miranda.

There is nothing from her but silence so Andy turns her head and stares. Instantly, Andy realizes what’s wrong. She was gone. She was in the laundry room for about ten to fifteen minutes too long, according to the look on Miranda’s face.

 _Crap_.

“Sorry I was gone so long.” Andy tells her with a faint but reassuring (she hopes) smile on her face. It takes a while but Miranda’s features soften and Andy breathes an inaudible sigh of relief. She puts a hand on Miranda’s arm too and it’s not brushed away. Henley drops a tiny bomb on them a few seconds later and it’s a good thing Andy is holding on.

“No fingerprints…or anything else. Yet anyway.” Henley shakes her head. “We’re still going over things but even now, there’s nothing.”

Andy feels Miranda’s body stiffen, then slack quite a bit. She moves her hand from Miranda’s arm to her lower back. Unlike earlier, that doesn’t bring on a straightened posture so Andy tries something else. She puts her arm around Miranda’s shoulder…in front of all these people.

Henley and Darren don’t appear to give it a second thought. Neither does Miranda because instead of pulling away, she leans in a bit as Henley continues to reveal the rest of what she knows so far which isn’t much.

Perhaps the most devastating news of all is that no one saw a thing. A concert in Central Park had everyone’s attention, almost none of her neighbors were home and those that were, were busy doing other things.

Essentially, as they all pile into Darren’s SUV a few minutes later, the feeling that Henley is not even at square one, is a heavy thing indeed. Miranda knows it. Andy knows it. The children sound asleep with their heads on Miranda and Andy’s lap as they make their way to her apartment probably know it too, even though they weren’t supposed to hear a thing.

And what is there to say about it at this point? Andy can tell Miranda has no desire to talk right now. Regardless of the sleeping twins, she doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s written all over her face. All Miranda wants is to stare out the window and look at nothing.  Miranda wants to pretend she’s not affected at all by any of this. Miranda wants stability, her world back in its proper form. She wants, wants and wants.

But maybe Andy is wrong?

Based upon the first words that come out of her mouth since their ride began, while she might be staring out the window looking at nothing, Miranda is apparently _not_ thinking about her desire to be unaffected or the need to have her world back in perfect order.

With a heavy sigh beforehand that definitely catches Andy’s attention, Miranda says, “I did not ask you. I remember now. I did not ask you come. Yet, here you are.”

She wants to say ‘Duh, Miranda’ but knows better. “You didn’t have to ask me, Miranda,” Andy says. “As soon as you started talking, I started getting dressed.”

“Why?” Miranda asks as she begins to run her fingers through Cassidy’s hair, still looking out the window.

Andy considers her next words carefully. There isn’t a privacy screen in this SUV. Then again this is Darren; he and his chosen few have been around, off and on, ever since the twins were born. It’s not as if she can come right out and say ‘Because I love you, Miranda’ in front of him, though.

“You were there for me when I needed you.” Andy looks at her and sighs. “The party. I couldn’t. So you did what you _didn’t_ have to do at all and I—“

Miranda turns her head sharply and interrupts. “I _did_ have to,” she says very firmly. “It was necessary. Just saying his name… I thought you were going to faint right there in the car, Andrea. Turning you into a chess piece is not acceptable if I…” Miranda stops herself from whatever she is about to say and it’s hard not to beg to hear the words, whatever they might have been. In a soft and quiet voice, she finishes, “It was necessary, but that has nothing to do with this. This situation.”

Andy rolls her eyes because all she wants to do is cut straight through all the bullshit and kiss Miranda. Dumping Caroline on the floorboard to do so wouldn’t go over well, though, so words are all she has.

“Look, you called me because you needed me.” Andy knows that’s too personal a thing to say in front of Darren but he looks so focused on the road right now that it doesn’t even matter. “Saying the words weren’t necessary, so here I am, Miranda. And for the record, if I found out you went through something like this—and _didn’t_ call me—I’d be pretty upset.”

“It would have upset you?” Miranda asks this like the expression ‘DUH!’ should be her middle name. Especially after Friday and for God’s sake—Saturday morning.

“More than you realize, I guess.” Andy says as she reaches out, putting her free hand (her other is protectively wrapped around Caroline as she sleeps) on Miranda’s. She’s been running her fingers through Cassidy’s hair the entire time so this is where they both are, with their hands linked right on top of poor Cassidy’s head.

Looking down, Miranda says, “Lately, I’ve been thinking of ways to convey that… Thinking of ways to make you see that I… Ways for you to find loyalty and…”

Well, she can’t finish. That speech Miranda gave a few hours ago in Andy’s sleep—she can’t finish it, much less begin it properly.

“I’ve found it.” Andy says quickly, sparing Miranda the pain of stumbling alone any further. “Everything you want me to find; I’ve found it, Miranda.”

Miranda looks at Andy like she’s just said she’s going to work for Vogue. “How is that possible?” She asks with a voice that is a little too high for not wanting to wake the twins or catch Darren’s attention. “Andrea, in all this time, I’ve done nothing right by you. Nothing. Even when I’ve wanted to, I’ve stopped myself.”

“Friday?” Andy asks, as in ‘Doesn’t that count?’ Even in the shadows Andy can see Miranda’s face turns red.

“Yes, there was Friday,” Miranda says quickly. “And then Saturday—in which I made a complete ass of myself on the telephone. And _then_ —“ Miranda is cut off by the sudden noise of the stereo coming on.

Andy looks toward Darren; he’s punching at the dashboard like a crazy person, like he can’t find a station or the volume button fast enough. Miranda raises an eyebrow. Andy simply shrugs as if to give Miranda permission to say whatever she feels she can—regardless of the audience that currently cannot hear a damn thing.

But before Miranda gets a chance, Andy’s got something to say herself.

“You gave me a way out, Miranda. You gave me time, rest. You took my shoes off.” For a moment Andy stops right there and closes her eyes just to experience the warm feeling the memory gives her. Finally, Andy opens her eyes again and the look Miranda is giving her is the most intense thing. It almost makes Andy speechless. _Almost_. “Miranda, you did more for me on Friday than anyone has done in a very, _very_ long time. So yeah, I’ve found whatever it is that you wanted me to find.”

Miranda doesn’t acknowledge anything that Andy has just said. Miranda doesn’t acknowledge that Andy’s just told her there’s hardly any work left to do if Andy is what Miranda wants.  She just begins to repeat herself. “Saturday. That all came out completely wrong. Completely wrong. You must understand that I did not intend to—”

“Did it?” Andy interrupts her; unable to help the mischievousness that accompanies her words. “I don’t think it came out wrong at all.”

Instead of raising her voice in frustration like she probably wants to, Miranda simply squeezes her hand and says, “Not all of it. The tone was certainly not what I intended; nor was the message, to be honest. It could have easily been misinterpreted. I did not exactly mean…”

“I know that, Miranda.” Andy says pointedly. “And I wish that I would have been able to stay awake for the invitation. I would have accepted.” Actually she probably would have dissolved into nothing right there in Miranda’s living room, but there’s no reason to admit that now. “You’ll just have to try again.”

“Yes,” Miranda says so quietly that Andy can barely hear her. “I suppose I will.”

 

TO BE CONTINUED


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. Been under the weather and getting online just hasn't been a priority lately.

Chapter Nine

Everything is quiet now. Well it should be since they are all asleep. Andy isn’t, though. She’s faking it, lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling fan overhead. Normally it wouldn’t be visible, but the bathroom light is on down the hall, causing just enough light to trickle in for her to see the fan blades as they go round and round. The girls aren’t much for sleeping without a light on somewhere and Andy’s willing to bet a hundred dollars that Miranda isn’t either, at least not tonight.  

The coming morning will probably be hell; two pre-teens, running on barely any sleep at all, isn’t going to be a fun thing to deal with. Luckily, there’s plenty of coffee on hand and thank God she went to the market on Saturday. Breakfast (if anyone can wake up enough to eat it) will be no problem. Now that Andy thinks about it, this is all a little ironic; the timing. There’s a refrigerator full of food for once and she had a million hours of sleep before all this happened. Meaning Andy is more ready for this than she would have been at any other time. Then again, food and sleep wouldn’t have made much of a different. Miranda needs her. Everything else is just boring little details that mean nothing.

The outline of two small backpacks across the living room catch Andy’s eye as the ceiling fan continues to hum away. Nigel stuffed their clothes inside but Caroline and Cassidy will use them in the morning for school. They’ll be empty, but at least the girls will have something to bring their homework back in.

Andy’s honestly surprised the girls want to go to school tomorrow, but it’s a good thing. Henley suggested they stick to their normal routine after Miranda, shockingly enough, asked her opinion on what they ought to do. Miranda didn’t seem to take Henley’s advice as gospel until Andy agreed, commenting that the girls could always call if they felt the need to come home early or just wanted to hear Miranda’s voice for reassurance. Andy wanted to point out that Miranda could do the same; she could call the school if she needed to know the girls were safe, but Andy kept her mouth shut.  If the need arose throughout the day then Andy would just get the phone out and make the call herself.

There’s no way Andy will fall asleep if she doesn’t shut her mind off. She can’t stop going over the events of the past hour in her head though, because it’s all too important to forget. Even the smallest detail must be carefully stored away so she’ll have the memory forever.  

Why wouldn’t she want to remember coming home, rushing around getting Caroline and Cassidy (who were barely able to stand up) into their pajamas while trying not to fight with Miranda about where everybody would sleep? Or Miranda finally relenting with a, “I don’t understand your reasoning but, alright. Whatever you think is best,” as she retreated to the bathroom, only to come out in a silk sleep shirt that barely came down to her knees (was Nigel trying to kill her?), and a clean face that was tired and gorgeous all the same. The combination made Andy’s heart fail to beat for about thirty seconds.

The best thing by far was turning out the lights after Miranda and the girls were finally settled…in Andy’s bed.

Miranda wanted to sleep on the couch and Andy had a futon in the other bedroom that the girls could have used, but that was unnecessary. The three of them should be together tonight and after repeating that forty times and the fact that she wouldn’t be uncomfortable on the couch (which was the biggest lie ever), Miranda gave up.

So just down the hall, Miranda is in her bed. It’s nothing like Andy would have wanted it to be, but there she is—in Andy’s bed. Then again, considering what is going on, she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Otherwise, what would be the point in having this chance?

Andy has no idea how her brain accomplishes the task, but when the scream comes, she can tell the difference and knows that it’s Caroline, not Cassidy. Either way she would have jumped up from the couch and ran into the bedroom, but there’s no denying that Caroline is easily finding her way into a special corner of Andy’s heart.

Plenty of light is coming in from the bathroom so there’s no need to turn the lights on to take in the scene. All three of them are sitting up in bed and Caroline’s practically choking Miranda, holding on tightly as tears stream down her face. Cassidy looks only half awake but concerned nonetheless, trying to crawl around Miranda to reach her sister.

Andy could go ten lifetimes without Miranda ever looking at her like she’s looking at Andy now. It’s nothing like earlier at the house. She’s not just crumbling. She’s crumbling while trying to catch the pieces of her child that are falling as well.

“Bad dream.” Miranda says, rubbing Caroline’s back.

With a nod, Andy turns and heads toward the kitchen. She’s back in seconds with a glass of water and wet rag, remembering that her mother used to bring the same things to her late at night when bad dreams found their way to the surface.

As she re-enters the bedroom, Miranda’s deep breath and slight look of relief cannot be missed. The smile that comes next, as Andy climbs into bed with them, is even harder to miss. She has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, climbing into bed with the three of them but whatever. This is just the more practical, realistic choice and it’s not dangerous. It’s just, somehow, the right thing to do, so she climbs in.

Immediately, Cassidy takes the rag and water from her as Miranda tries to simultaneous grab the water before Cassidy spills it. The bed is saved but Caroline’s chokehold on Miranda tightens.

“Breathe, Caroline.” Miranda tells her, still trying not to spill the water.

Andy reaches for it and takes it back before disaster strikes anyway. “Let me have it.” Miranda gives it to her and Andy puts it on her nightstand until Caroline is ready.

Since Caroline is tangled up in Miranda and there’s nothing else to do, Cassidy grabs onto Andy in a fit of panic (her sister is clearly not ready to stop crying) and in seconds she’s practically in Andy’s lap. Like earlier in the kitchen with Caroline, Andy and Cassidy have definitely never been this close.

Miranda glances over at them, probably trying to tell if Andy objects. Whatever look Andy gives her in return brings on yet another look of relief as they lean back against the headboard to simply wait for Caroline to calm down.

Finally she does, after all the tears are wiped away and half the water is consumed.

“I don’t want to go back,” are the first words out of Caroline’s mouth and Miranda closes her eyes.

Cassidy, in her own way, tries to be reassuring. “It’s not like everything is gonna, stay that way, Caroline.”

With a cutting glare that is just like the one Miranda gives everybody a million times a day, Caroline says, “How do you know? It might happen again.”

“It won’t,” Andy butts in before Cassidy or Miranda can say anything because it’s likely that whatever Cassidy will say will just piss Caroline off. It’s even more likely that Miranda has no idea what to say at all. “It won’t happen again, okay?” Because, really, it _won’t_. Andy would die before she let it. One way or another, she’ll make sure this never happens to them again.

And it’s no wonder that everybody in bed looks at her with doubt. None of them, not even Miranda, believes a word of it.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Andy says, “but I promise you, this won’t happen again.”

Cassidy shrugs, Caroline buries her face in her mother’s neck, Miranda just looks lost and Andy realizes that she’s got to do something to make everyone calm down if sleep is to be had before the sun comes up.

“Hey _,_ who finished Deathly Hallows?” Because _hello_ , Andy nearly lost her job getting it for them so they damn well have it already. And she kept a copy for herself, of course. Who would go through all _that_ and not keep a copy?

To Andy’s surprise, all _three_ of them say, “ _Me_.”

So they all read it. Miranda read it…

She’s hardly able to hold in her excitement. Who would guess that Miranda Priestly is possibly a Potterhead? To avoid saying anything too nerdy (or maybe this is anyway), as they all lay down and get settled again with the girls between them, Andy starts reciting the spells in alphabetical order, telling the girls what each of them means if they can’t remember. When Caroline and Cassidy start to argue over Arania Exumai, it’s Miranda that explains, nearly killing Andy in the process. Yes, Miranda is a Potterhead. And she hates spiders.

When it comes up, they skip Avada Kedavra. All four of them agree that you just don’t say that out loud. You just _don’t_. When they get to the Babbling Curse, Andy ignores the fact that as Cassidy tells the obvious meaning, Miranda mumbles something about how her Second Assistant is often afflicted by it. A short time later everything stops at Bluebell Flames because the girls drop off to sleep before either Miranda or Andy notice.

“Well, that worked,” Miranda whispers.

“Yeah.”

“Andrea…”

The way Miranda says her name puts Andy on high alert.

“Don’t Miranda.” Andy swallows hard, pushing down everything she suddenly wants to say in spite of knowing full well that they shouldn’t talk about that anymore tonight. “Let’s not,” she says and in order to stop this from sounding like a bush-off, Andy reaches across Cassidy and touches Miranda’s arm that is protectively wrapped around Caroline. “We’ll be fine, okay?” And that could be taken in about ten different ways right now.

“Will we?” Miranda asks, sounding doubtful yet again.

“We will.” Andy tells her, squeezing Miranda’s hand tightly.

And then Miranda _complete_ changes the subject, still holding on to Andy’s hand.

“You know, Cara and Leslie remind me of Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine. Cara especially…”

Miranda keeps talking, telling her about all the ways Cara and Leslie measure up to the characters (at at least from her viewpoint), but Andy’s not listening. Her brain is officially melting into a pile of goo because forget all about being a Potterhead; Miranda Priestly is a Trekkie. She is a _Trekkie_. What the fuck…

“Are you listening?”

“What?” Andy asks, completely startled. “Oh… Yeah. Yeah. Totally listening.”

Miranda removes her hand from Andy’s and leans up on her elbow. “You’ve _never_ seen Voyager? The Star Trek movies, at least?” She questions Andy like their entire future depends on her answer. And maybe it does. “Please tell me you have, otherwise I’m just not sure…” Yes, apparently it does.

“I’ve seen all the movies!” Andy quickly says a little too loud. Cassidy pushes against her in retaliation but doesn’t wake up fully. “And I’ve seen a _lot_ of Next Generation. I _swear_.”

Miranda makes a noise of disapproval and lays back down.

“Have you ever seen Star Wars?” Andy asks to try and turn the tables. Her attempt is a big fat failure.

“Andrea,” Miranda sounds exasperated now. “Be serious. Who hasn’t seen Star Wars? Really? _God_ has probably seen Star Wars a hundred times. Although, I have to admit, I am not what you would call a fan of it. I’m more of a… well. Never mind.”

Oh, no. Andy’s not about to let Miranda off the hook. “You’re a Trekkie,” she points out unflinchingly.

“A what?” Miranda fails at sounding like she seriously doesn’t know what that is.

“Whatever. You know what a Trekkie is.”

“Well…”

“This is hilarious. The queen of fashion is a Trekkie.”

“And she’ll sell you to the Romulans,” Andy can just feel Miranda glaring at her, “before you can breathe a single word about it to anyone.”

Okay, that’s uncalled for. Andy remembers enough to know being sold to the Romulans isn’t the best of ideas.

“That doesn’t really sound like something I’d enjoy,” she yawns. “Sell me to Deanna Troi instead. I’d rather that.”

“Deanna Troi!”

“Shh! You’re gonna wake the girls up.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Miranda says flatly.

“Thanks. I think.” Andy breathes a fake sigh of relief and tries not to laugh.

“You’re quite welcome. Andrea?”

 “Yes, Miranda?”

“This is not my bed, but if you would stay, I would—“

Andy doesn’t bother to let her finish because the thought of going back into the living room was never an option anyway. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Miranda whispers as their fingers lace together again. “You’re here.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new day starts in Chapter Ten - I swear.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm a little behind on my posting schedule == here's an extra one for the week! Enjoy!

Chapter Ten

 

As soon as Andy closes her eyes, she’s on the Millennium Falcon and Chewbacca is bellowing on about how crappy the radar system is. Frankly, a lot of things are crappy on the Falcon but it gets Andy where she needs to go, so who cares. She doesn’t. At least not today.

“I know Chewie. Shut up already, okay!” Andy yells right back at him since he won’t let it drop. “We’ll make the repairs as soon as we get some downtime.”

That only makes him bellow some more about things Andy didn’t need to be told. They’re too busy these days to even know what downtime is and when it’s close at hand, something always comes up. Like today for instance. The prospect of downtime flew by as soon as Andy stepped foot in the tavern. Miranda was practically standing right there in the doorway (once again dressed in Prada) ready to pounce. And what did she need? A ride to work, of course.

It was just as well, really. Greedo was there too. Andy spotted him at the other end of the bar and knew taking Miranda to work was a much less dangerous undertaking than dealing with him. She didn’t have Jabba’s money and probably wouldn’t for a while so it was best to steer clear. The last thing she needed was to get in a gunfight in such a public place, and the possibility of losing her ship was an even worse thing to contemplate.

“I doubt repairing this heap of junk will do much good.” Miranda says behind her in her usual low and cutting voice.

It’s way too early in the day for Andy to be able to put up with this shit. Especially since they barely made it out of the dock in the first place. For some reason a handful of Imperial Stormtroopers seemed to be real interested in talking to Miranda.

“You can shut up too, Miranda.” Andy says, looking briefly over her shoulder. Miranda is sitting there on the bench seat, going over the Book. “This heap of _junk_ can outrun anything and you’re lucky I’m not charging you.”

“I pay you already.”

“Not for this you don’t,” Andy replies sarcastically as the radar screen finally wakes up. And it’s a good thing too because it just so happens that an Imperial starship is heading straight for them. Chewie starts bellowing again. “I know, I know!” Andy says. “I see it Chewie.”

“See what?” Miranda asks.

“Oh, _nothing_.” Andy turns her head again so Miranda doesn’t miss the look on Andy’s face. “Wanna tell me why those troopers are so interested in you?”

“It’s of no importance.” Miranda waves a hand toward her. “Just hurry up. I don’t want to be late. I have an early meeting.”

“Whatever. Tell me, Miranda.”

After a bit of silence, Miranda finally opens her mouth but it’s really not much of an answer. “It was nothing, really,” she says. “Merely some unpleasantness I’d rather avoid this morning. As I said, I haven’t the time right now.”

Andy scoffs. “Unpleasant my ass.”

“Oh, Andrea,” Miranda chuckles, which throws Andy off a bit and for a second she almost forgets how to navigate the ship. “Your ass is hardly unpleasant.”

Chewbacca groans in disgust and, _yep_ , Andy forgets so much about navigation that the ship suddenly jerks to starboard. She rights it quickly but not before Chewie starts up again. For what feels like the fortieth time, Andy tells him to shut up, only to smell smoke a split second later. Electrical wires can be heard sizzling and popping somewhere behind them and warning lights start blinking like the entire place is lit up like a Christmas tree.

“ _Great_. Can you hold this together while I go check it out?” Andy asks Chewie and only gets another groan and a look of ‘Well, duh’ in return.

Jumping up from her seat Andy heads down a corridor and doesn’t have to look twice to know that Miranda is right behind her.

“Don’t start, Miranda. I’ll get this handled in just a minute.” Or so she hopes. And when did she start being so blunt with Miranda? Shaking her head in bewilderment, Andy loosens the panel where the smell is coming from. Thank God the sorry excuse for a fire suppression system worked this time; otherwise they’d have a real mess on their hands.  Removing it carefully, Andy steps back to survey the damage; Miranda is looking over her shoulder the whole time.

“This sort of thing would never happen on the Enterprise,” she says, practically in Andy’s ear. The feeling of her breath makes the hair on the back of Andy’s neck stand, even though she’s aggravated as hell.

“Whatever,” Andy says, half turning. “They had stuff blow up all the time.”

“And competent people to fix the problem.”

“I’m competent!” Andy rolls her eyes and fully turns around to face Miranda this time. “You’re just peeved that Mr. Wesley-Know-It-All-Crusher isn’t here to save the day. Sorry, you’re stuck me! Maybe you should have hitched a ride with Picard instead. Or maybe Janeway. Then again, you’d never make it to work if it was left up to them. Picard would have to stand around and debate with the Prime Directive for too damn long and Janeway would just get lost for a million years.”

“Take that back! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miranda snaps at her. “And for your information, I’m hardly _stuck_.”

“I won’t take it back because it’s true and you know it! And by the way, you practically begged me to get you out of Tatoonie, Miranda. The next time you don’t want to deal with _unpleasantness_ you might want to work a little at blending in with the crowd. Dressed like that, you stick out like a sore thumb!”

Miranda gives her that classic once over. “Speak for yourself, Ms. Property Of Potterhead Universtity.”

Huh? Andy looks down and damn it, she’s definitely got on her Potterhead University t-shirt, jeans and converse sneakers. And here she is, on the Millennium Falcon. How screwy.

All of the sudden, the burnt electrical wiring doesn’t seem that important anymore. Miranda is just standing there staring at her. Not in a bad way, either. But in that ‘I want to kiss you even though you’re annoying the hell out of me right now’ kind of way. And right now, Andy doesn’t have a problem with that at all. Who cares about burnt wiring?

But, just like the other times, as soon as their lips brush against each other, something happens.

Chewie’s yelling reaches her ears but comprehending that another Imperial ship has just appeared out of nowhere, is the last thing on Andy’s to-do list. He begins to take the Falcon through a few evasive maneuvers though, and Andy loses her balance, falling backwards, hitting the deck hard.

Or not at all. Actually, she’s on the floor of her bedroom again and even though she’s still half asleep and has no idea what’s going on, Andy knows she’s hurt herself this time.

Then there are voices, growing louder and a chorus of “Mom, Andy fell out of bed!” fills the air along with a lot of giggling.

Who the fuck… Oh. _Right_. Twins. Wait… Why is it so bright?

Andy’s barely made it to a sitting position when Miranda comes barreling in, ordering the girls to stop laughing and playing around. How they’re so full of energy with so little sleep is beyond Andy’s grasp.

“How did this happen?” Miranda asks as she kneels down, looking as perfect as always. Like she’s had eight hours of sleep and all the time in the world to get ready. And here Andy is, still in bed.

Part of her brain is still on the Millennium Falcon, which means there’s no filter to control Andy’s mouth. Rubbing her face and a tender spot on her left temple, she mumbles, “This always happens. Every time you kiss me, I fall on the floor. Which is really starting to suck…”

“Every time I _what_?” Miranda asks with the weirdest look on her face.

Oh… Shit.

“Nothing,” Andy says, shaking her head violently which is a mistake. “It’s nothing. Seriously. Sorry.”

Miranda looks over her shoulder before whispering. “I don’t recall having kissed you, but I’ll take your word for it. I hope in the future it’s not such a dangerous thing to experience.”

Andy doesn’t know what to say and even if she did she probably wouldn’t be able to open her mouth. _In the future…_

Suddenly, Miranda’s hands are on her face. “You’re going to have a bruise,” she says, running a finger over Andy’s temple. “I think you hit your head on the nightstand.”

“Probably,” Andy manages to say while Miranda continues to touch her face. If she keeps on like this, going back to sleep right here on the floor won’t be a problem at all. In fact, Andy does close her eyes but opens them back up immediately as Miranda asks her if she’s alright.

“Yeah,” Andy rubs her face again and sits up straighter. “I’m okay. It feels so late though. What time is it?”

“Nearly eight,” she says, pulling Andy to her feet until she can sit down on the bed. “Darren is on his way to get the girls. They’ll be a little late but it won’t matter. I spoke to the school just now.”

“I guess I didn’t hear my alarm.”

“I turned it off.”

“What?” Andy looks at Miranda like she’s crazy because why in the hell would she do that? There is a ton of stuff to do today.

“I turned it off,” Miranda repeats in a tone that tells Andy not to argue. “You needed your rest.”

“Okay.” Andy gives in, and then realizes everyone’s got to eat breakfast. “Wait,” she says franticly. “What about breakfast? They need to eat. You need to eat…”

“Andrea, calm down.” Miranda puts a hand on her arm. “They found your cereal collection while I was in the shower.”

“Oh…” Well, damn. It’s not like she wouldn’t have let them have any, but her chances at having Lucky Charms this morning don’t sound too good.

Miranda reads her mind perfectly. “Don’t worry,” she says, rolling her eyes. “There’s plenty left. And coffee.”

“What did you eat?”

“Nothing,”

“Oh… Well, I have a lot of stuff in the refrigerator. I can make—“

“No,” Miranda interrupts her. “Greg called quite early therefore my appetite is nonexistent.”

 _Crap_.

“What did he say?” Andy asks with hesitation, wondering if Miranda will even tell her.

“A lot of things,” Miranda says and then to Andy’s surprise, she tells her everything. “He’s under the impression that the girls are not safe under my _supervision_. And he wants to come get them…”

Oh, shit.

Before Andy can say anything, Miranda takes a deep breath and begins again. “I told him no, of course,” she says, shaking her head. “He is scheduled to have them on the weekend. Not this one, the next, and I intend to make him stick to that schedule. He’ll just have to get over it. But… He was rather insistent which is unlike him. To be so argumentative…believe it or not. I suppose I should have expected as much. Considering…”

Considering the legal bullshit going on, is what Andy figures Miranda would really like to say. Andy remembers that as of last week it looks like Miranda is going to win the battle. Every other weekend and every other holiday is all Greg is going to get—which is all he’d had to begin with.

“Is the court thing over?” Andy whispers not wanting the girls to overhear.

“For the most part,” Miranda shrugs. “I’m not sure why he thought trying to label me as an unfit parent would ever work. I know that I’m not…there all the time.” Miranda looks down at the floor and Andy takes her hand and squeezes it tight. “But I’m not an unfit parent.”

“No,” Andy says firmly. “You’re not. Hopefully he’ll calm down,” Andy continues, trying to sound as upbeat about it as she can and decides not to mention that she’ll kill him otherwise. Having him upset Miranda right now just isn’t something Andy will allow.  And while Miranda might be many things that aren’t very nice at all, she’s _not_ an unfit parent.

“That’s doubtful. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up today.”

Well, that’s not good. “You think he’d really go to Elias-Clark?”

“I do.”

The sound of something (probably a cereal bowl) hitting the bottom of the kitchen sink, halts their conversation. With a sigh Miranda gets up and as Andy watches her walk away; the slight slump of her shoulders cannot be missed. Already, Miranda’s day is starting out with a feeling of defeat.

After hastily choosing an outfit, Andy hurries to the bathroom to take a lighting fast shower. Darren will probably be here any minute and she’s anxious to see the girls before they go to school. It’s almost like she’s got to see for herself that they’re alright and will make it through the day. 

Of course, showering still takes longer than intended. For a minute Andy forgets about the twins as she watches her favorite news program (that she almost never gets to watch), because yeah, there’s a flat-screen television her bathroom. Why not? Honestly, having one there makes perfect sense to Andy and it’s positioned in such a way that no matter where she is, (even in the shower) she always has a perfect view.  And guess what. There’s one in the kitchen too because who has time to cook and run back and forth to the living room to watch a good movie? Not that Andy has time to cook; but at least she’s prepared.

By the time Chuck Todd is done ranting and raving about how the Republicans are slowly strangling their own party to death, Andy’s dressed and ready to go. And she looks good, which is surprising for how little sleep she’s had.

To be so ready to get to get the day started, Andy barely gets her hand on the knob of her bedroom door before she stops herself. She can hear the girls laughing and even though she can’t make out what Miranda is saying, she sounds pleasant enough, maybe even a little happy. It might just be a front for the girls but either way it’s music to Andy’s ears. Knowing that the three of them are inside the four walls of her apartment… Well, Andy doesn’t want it to end.

And maybe it doesn’t have to. At least not right away. There’s no way the townhouse will be put back together to Cara’s satisfaction today, to say nothing of Miranda’s, so maybe Andy can talk her into staying another night? Maybe two?

The next five minutes are like a whirlwind. Darren arrives as soon as Andy emerges from the bedroom. It’s obvious that Caroline and Cassidy are high on sugar, no sleep and possibly the newness of their surroundings. The more noise they make, the more unsettled Miranda becomes so Andy pulls the girls toward the door and passes out coats and backpacks while Darren speaks to Miranda in the kitchen. Whatever he has to say doesn’t take long and then, all of the sudden it’s just the two of them. Alone.

Alone for the first time since Friday night.

 

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work is slow tonight so I thought I’d be nice and give you another chapter since I had the time to post. Hope you enjoyed it.

Chapter Eleven

 

Oddly enough, everything turns a bit awkward now that they are alone. Sleeping in the same bed with Miranda didn’t feel awkward. Having Miranda practically pick her up off the floor and hearing that Andy has dreams of about her was embarrassing, but not awkward. But this is. Standing in the living room in absolute silence is awkward. And there is so much to do today. They don’t have time for this. Whatever this is. It doesn’t help that Andy feels desperate for a Sorting Hat right now either.

Miranda finally breaks the silence and what she chooses to talk about tells Andy that she is desperate too. Desperate for a distraction.

“You know,” Miranda says sweeping her hand over the living room, “I don’t know whether I’m in Nerd Land or a Man Cave.”

Seriously? Okay, Nerd Land, _maybe_. But her apartment is definitely _not_ a Man Cave.

“Oh, come on,” Andy shakes her head and can’t help but laugh as the awkwardness dissipates. “I’ll give you Nerd Land. But this is not a Man Cave.” She points to the three, professionally framed Harry Potter ‘war-time’ recruitment posters on the wall behind the couch and the many Star Wars items scattered around. Her collection is extensive. But then again, so is her obsession. Everyone’s got to have something, don’t they? “Nerd Land,” she says, still pointing. “But not a Man Cave.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow and looks doubtful. “You have a television in the bathroom, Andrea. And in the kitchen.”

And there’s the line. Andy waves a hand to stop Miranda before she can go any further. “No dissing my flat-screens.” she continues, turning and walking away toward the kitchen. Hopefully there’s coffee left, and to hell with cereal. She’ll just get something later.

“Touchy subject?” Miranda asks, following along behind.

“ _Yep_. Those are my babies. Pride and joy.”

“Alright then. No _dissing_ of flat-screens.” Miranda surrenders with a hint of disbelief in her voice and hands her a tall, dark cup of coffee from Starbucks. “Darren brought it,” she says and it’s plainly obvious that she intentionally allows their fingers to brush as Andy takes it from her.

By now they’ve held hands or touched each other on the arm half a dozen times, but only since last night, so this contact is just as new and thrilling. Even just this light touch seems surreal; yet it’s like an anchor too, an assurance almost.

“Thank you.” Andy can barely get the words out.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for last night.”

Well, now Andy’s even more tongue-tied.

“I know this has been a serious invasion of your privacy.”

“No,” Andy says, suddenly realizing just how badly she doesn’t want them to go yet. It’s worse than she thought. “No, it isn’t at all. Really, Miranda. I wanted you here…”

Her cellphone rings and Andy almost curses out loud. Of all the times for it to ring, this isn’t one of them. Grabbing it quickly, intent on pressing ‘ignore’, Andy looks at the screen. The name on the display should be a clue that today will be filled with nothing but one round of ‘what-the-fuck-ness’ after another because it’s Irv Ravitz… And while she’s got his number programmed into her phone, Andy has _never_ called him. And he has _never_ called her.

By now it’s on the third ring and Miranda has departed to the living room to gather her things. Andy knows she probably thinks it’s Roy, telling her that he’s almost there, along with one of Darren’s people.

“Hello?” Andy answers with a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach. What in the hell could he want?

She doesn’t have to ask because he just comes right out with it.

“The papers have it,” he says, she can tell by the background noise that he’s in a car, not to mention clearly agitated. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” she says, even though the only reason she does is because Greg called Miranda. At this point that would be the only way he could have found out. But what she doesn’t know is just how much or how little coverage the story has received. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to ask Irv that either.

“It’s not much coverage but it’s enough to have those bastards camped out in front of Elias-Clark. I just passed there.”

“Oh. Well, I—“

“You can’t let her come in the front door. I won’t allow them to get to her like that today.” Andy’s head starts to spin as he continues. Is it possible that he actually gives a damn about Miranda? Jesus… “She’s an absolute _bitch_ ,” he says. “And if this were any kind of her usual self-made _drama_ , I wouldn’t hesitate to let the vultures descend. But not today.”

And that’s when Andy basically collapses into a kitchen chair and Miranda takes notice, coming over immediately.

“I’m in the car with Roy,” he says and Andy’s ears start to ring. He cares. Some small piece of Irv actually cares about Miranda. It’s very likely that she might faint. Not Miranda; but Andy, because this is just too unbelievable. “She’s got her security people, correct?”

A barely audible “Uh, huh,” is all she can muster.

“Good. Tell them to come get her. Wherever she is. I know she’s not at home and I know she’s not at the office already, obviously, so tell them to pick her up and take her in through the garage. No front door service today. I’m handling that. It’ll shock the hell out of them. They all know that town-car and she’ll be inside the building already by the time they know what’s happened.”

“Okay…” Andy even shakes her head and Miranda looks like she’s only seconds from taking the phone away from her.

“This is hardly big news by their standards,” he continues. “So a day or two tops is all the coverage it should get. She can do what she wants tomorrow but for today, considering what’s happened, I’d say she deserves a goddamned break. And tell her no arguments. I don’t give a crap what she says. Is it true the house was torn to pieces?”

“Yeah…” She barely answers.

“I swear to God… Probably some fucking kids. Ever hear of the Bling Ring? _California_? Damn it… That’s the _last_ thing we need in this city.”

The line goes dead after that and it’s official. She’s about to black out.

“What is it?” Miranda asks.

There’s definitely no way Andy can lie about this and she’s still half out of it anyway so she blurts everything out at once, just to get it over with.

“It was Irv,” she says, watching fire instantly ignite in Miranda’s eyes. “He wants you to come in through the garage. With Darren…or whoever. Not with Roy. He’s taking Roy…to throw the reporters off. He…uh…said considering what’s happened, he didn’t want you to have to deal with that this morning. He said tomorrow it probably, you know, wouldn’t be as bad. But today he didn’t want you to…”

Now, it’s Miranda’s turn to land in a kitchen chair and of course, the first words out of her mouth are, “This is some kind of trick.”

Andy shakes her head. “No, Miranda. I really don’t think it is.”

“It is,” she says, glaring at the table.

Andy can’t believe she’s about to defend him. It seems like the worst sin imaginable. Like she’s committing treason.

“I… Miranda he’s serious,” she says. “This isn’t a trick. He wants to do this for you.”

“You believe him?” Miranda asks, suspicious.

“I do. I can’t believe that I do. But I do.”

“I can handle the Press,” she says, nearly spitting out the words. “He of all people should know that.”

“You’re right. You can.” Andy tries to sound as gentle as possible, hoping to stop Miranda before she truly blows a gasket. “This is a little different though. Don’t you think?” Then, bringing out a tactic that probably doesn’t have a chance in hell of working, Andy takes Miranda’s hand. “I would like it if you went in through the garage. Forget Irv. I’d like you to bypass all that this morning if you can…”

“Oh, you would?” Miranda says with a raised eyebrow.

“I would,” Andy says, remaining gentle but trying not to sound like she’s begging at the same time.

She almost doesn’t believe it when she hears it, but a few seconds and one deep breath later, Miranda agrees.

As it turns out, Darren is already waiting outside. Roy called him and changed their plan without Miranda’s permission and the list of people that care about Miranda (even just a little bit) keeps growing.

Darren takes the longer route to Elias-Clark which is fine because there are a million phone calls that can be made during the ride. Well almost a million. Miranda is on the phone with Leslie and then her lawyer the whole time while Andy makes appointments with the half dozen people Miranda will need to see today and cancels the half dozen she could care less about right now. Of those, what absolutely cannot be canceled, she tosses to Nigel via text message. He’s all too happy to help and wants details of their night.

She doesn’t tell him a single thing other than that they got a bit of a late start this morning. That’s it. No details. Andy can sense his disappointment even though they’re not face-to-face but there’s no way she’s relenting. The last thing she does is text Emily for the first coffee run of the day then sits back and watches everything go by outside the window. Until she hears the words ‘unfit parent’ come out of Miranda’s mouth, that is, and decides to pretend Darren doesn’t even exist and the SUV is being driven by a robot.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Andy slides over toward Miranda. Darren looks in the rearview mirror once and only once, and then turns the radio on.

By the look Miranda gives her, Andy knows she’s startled and maybe that she doesn’t approve, but Andy doesn’t care. She’s sick of hearing the words ‘unfit parent’ because it’s likely that Miranda’s actually starting to believe she is exactly that. Looping her arm through Miranda’s (she’s still on the phone) Andy whispers, “You’re not an unfit parent, Miranda.”

After that, Miranda sighs, gets off the phone, and for the next ten minutes they simply sit there with their fingers laced together. If the situation weren’t so serious, Andy would think she was back in junior-high, sitting on the bus or something, with her little boyfriend from down the street. But this isn’t junior-high and honestly, it’s the first time their age difference comes to mind.

It hardly takes two seconds for Andy to realize that she doesn’t give a damn.

The parking garage entrance is on the other side of the building so they miss seeing the crowd all together. Darren pulls up to the elevator inside and before he can get out, Miranda opens the door and turns, holding her hand out. Knowing this is the last time she’ll get this chance today; Andy takes her hand firmly. Letting go, once she’s exited the SUV, ends up being the beginning of one hell of a transformation.

Miranda squares her shoulders, standing straighter than she has in nearly twelve hours and marches toward the elevator in full Miranda Priestly mode. In a million years Andy would never guess anything even mildly traumatic has happened to her and would certainly never guess that _this_ Miranda Priestly, Andy’s _boss_ , could ever have feelings for her. But, no matter what kind of show Miranda puts on today, Andy knows the truth.

When they exit the elevator Emily is right there, giving Andy a hateful look as she hands Miranda her coffee and begins to scribble away at her notepad, dutifully writing down just about every word that’s coming out of Miranda’s mouth. In a way this is pretty nice, just getting to walk down the hall and not start her day off in a complete rush, like a chicken with her head cut off. Andy could get used to it for sure, but it ends quickly. As soon as they’re one foot inside the office the day officially starts, tasks are doled out and Andy is running around, once again, like a headless chicken.

All jokes aside, she keeps a sharp eye on Miranda which takes no effort because without realizing it, she’s been doing that for ages—and not just as a job. Shuffling through the maze of Nigel’s Rumor Mill takes no effort either because she skillfully cuts him off at the pass each and every time, giving him something else to go do. Ignoring the various ugly faces that Emily keeps tossing her way is as easy as ever and the day just keeps going and going at its usual crazy pace…until around noon.

Around noon, Andy gets a job handed down to her that blows her mind.

Miranda calls her in and asks for two print-outs of the missing art pieces. That’s nothing, Andy has anticipated this and with one phone call to Cara, an amazingly detailed list arrives in her inbox thirty seconds later. The real job comes next.

Andy hands both copies over to Miranda who glances at them, looking pleased at their detail. With an uncharacteristic tug of her bottom lip, she mumbles, “This should work,” and puts one copy in an envelope with a hastily written note. There’s something of an evil little grin on her face when she slips in the note. It sort of reminds Andy of Caroline but she pushes that away. There isn’t time to think about the girls right now.

Handing her the envelope, Miranda finally looks up. “Take this to Anna. She’s expecting you.”

The base of Andy’s skull starts to fry. _Anna_?

Miranda gives her a look that clearly means-stop being stupid. “You know who I’m talking about,” she says, still giving Andy that look. “Someone at the desk will tell you where to go. You can ask for her by name. That won’t be a problem.”

Andy really can’t move. _Anna_? Oh… Well… See? More ‘what-the-fuck-ness’. How wonderful. This has _got_ to be a joke. It’s just got to be because compared to getting her hands on an unpublished manuscript; this is the most unbelievable request in the whole fucking world.

“Go, Andrea.” Miranda says, literally shooing her toward the door. “She doesn’t have all day and neither do I. Now _go_. I’m due to receive a call from Detective Henley at any moment and cannot have you standing here with your mouth hanging open like an idiot. _Go_.”

There isn’t an “Okay” or a “Yes, Miranda” or anything else that can come out of Andy’s mouth. She just turns around and walks out, barely remembering to get her coat and bag.

Roy isn’t waiting for her when she gets outside. Why would he be? It’s a short walk to the enemy encampment. Ironically enough, they’re practically neighbors and in fifteen minutes Andy is standing in the lobby of the Condé Nast Building, asking to see Anna Wintour.

As far as Andy is concerned, she might as well be committing treason for the second time today, and fully expects an entire legion of Dementors to come out of some dark corner at any moment. 

 

To Be Continued

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this being a little late. Time for sitting down to post anything has been in short supply - yet again.

Chapter Twelve

There isn’t a doubt in Andy’s mind that if Miranda were here right now, she would be having a raving fit over how slow this elevator is. It’s just creeping along, like it has all the time in the world. And why the seventh floor? Andy knows damn good and well Anna’s office is _not_ on the seventh floor. That would be an insult. So what’s on the seventh floor? The person at the desk had said, “Seventh floor, to the left, second door to the right.” Seventh floor…

“God, help me,” Andy whispers through a clinched jaw. And she has no idea why she wants the elevator to speed up but damn it, she’s ready to get this over with.

Although, it occurs to her that this might not be as bad as she’s anticipating. Andy’s seen Anna enough on television and glimpses of her at shows to know that she at least _seems_ more personable than Miranda. She’s very animated and friendly when she speaks to people she obviously knows well and producing a genuine smile isn’t nearly as much of a problem for her as it is for Miranda. Hell, her laugh is even genuine; Anna can be downright funny when she wants to be. But that could easily be all for appearances sake. In all honesty, Anna Wintour could be a Death Eater.

The real question is why in the hell couldn’t Miranda have just picked up the phone and told Anna all about these missing paintings, or even emailed her? Yet, she knows Andy is coming. Or someone from Runway. That was clearly implied in Miranda’s instructions. So did Miranda call her after all? What is this exactly?

When the elevator doors open, Andy foolishly checks to see if Yoda is nearby. He isn’t, so she has to do this all by herself. There’s no Liquid Luck in her handbag either so without finding the things she needs the most, Andy takes a second to survey her surroundings before heading toward what could be the weirdest thing she ever does in her life.

This place is deserted. Absolutely, one-hundred percent deserted. How is that possible? You’d think every inch of space would be used for something but that’s far from the case. Maybe this is the floor where they stick all the office furniture Anna doesn’t like…or models that are too fat…the assistant of Anna’s sworn enemy? 

Before she’s even ready for it, Andy is at that second door to the right and there is nothing else to do but turn the handle. “I am so fucked…” she says, forcing her eyes to remain open.

Inside, it looks nothing like she expected. For lack of a better way to describe it, it’s like a kind of crappy but comfortable office lounge or something. There are two couches, some arm chairs, a coffee table, poor lighting (because half the lights don’t seem to work) and there isn’t a single window…and Anna Fucking Wintour is most definitely sitting right there in the corner, sunglasses and all.

Andy can’t get over how incredibly small Anna looks. For as many times as she’s seen her, Andy’s never noticed how tiny the woman is. Or maybe it’s just how she’s sitting in one of the arm chairs, practically folded up within herself? She looks like shit too, which is so weird. Even though the room is half dark, and even though there are those stupid sunglasses in place, it’s clear that Anna is tired and all this combined makes Andy less afraid to be in a room alone with her. She faces much worse on a daily basis, after all.

 “I want you to understand that you are not here as a Runway employee,” Anna says suddenly from her place in the corner. As she speaks, she stands but does not come any closer, still looking small. “I also want you to understand that I am most certainly not an editor right now. This is business of a different sort and I’m _not_ the enemy today.”

Well, okay then. But wait… This, actually, pisses Andy off. Not a Runway employee? Not an editor? Not the enemy? And Andy’s supposed to just roll over and believe whatever the hell comes out of Anna’s mouth? _Nope_. Not today. Not ever. And regardless of whatever Miranda might have planned for this to be, it isn’t happening _this_ way.

“If you don’t mind,” Andy says, taking a couple steps closer as she digs the envelope out of her bag, “I’ll understand things as I see them, and I’ll figure out who the enemy is on my own, too.” Where the fuck this attitude has come from, Andy has no idea and yes, Miranda will probably choke her but she doesn’t care. Anna Wintour is the _last_ person in the world Andy’s going to take orders from.

“Miranda obviously trusts you to do just that…” she says, taking off her sunglasses. Anna looks Andy up and down, seeming to ignore her attitude problem and her eyes are like tiny lasers with dark circles around them. “Of course,” Anna continues, “You probably think Miranda could have sent an email for this.” Anna holds her hand out and Andy steps closer, holding out the envelope.

“Yes…well, I. Yes.”

“I emailed her.” Anna says as she takes it. “And I called her. Sit down, please.”

“Oh…”

“We cannot ring one another constantly, though. Much less stay on the phone forever.” Anna rolls her eyes and motions for Andy to sit down in a chair across from her since she hasn’t moved yet. “The government or any teenager with a decent computer can get into anyone’s business and things as they are…”

“Right,” Andy interrupts even though she doesn’t really understand what ‘things’ the woman is talking about.

“Right...” Anna mumbles as she tilts her head, staring at Andy some more. And then, just when Andy’s starting to get a little less pissed off, another blow is dealt. “I’m glad Miranda sent you,” Anna smirks. “Then again, I knew she would. She doesn’t trust anyone else. It’s still nice to be right, though.”

So this is a game for her?

“This isn’t a game,” Andy says, standing swiftly. “And I’m not a chess piece.”

“ _No_ ,” Anna says tiredly. “This isn’t a _game_. And you’re not... You’re not a chess piece. Which is why I was hoping you would come. Do sit down,” Anna gestures again at the chair Andy’s just vacated. “I’m expecting a call at any moment. Getting dramatic won’t be of any use right now. There’s no time…”

Okay, what the fuck?

Andy doesn’t know what to do. Be pissed? Be completely bewildered? Not that being either of those things would make much of a difference. Anna’s right about one thing at least. Getting all dramatic won’t do Andy any good so with an annoyed huff she pushes away her fighting mood, and sits back down to watch Anna open that all-important envelope. 

It’s odd how she’s so careful with it, but she treats the envelope gently, and treats what’s inside it even more so. Forgoing the smaller note for now, Anna pulls out the sheet of paper and Andy waits, watching her facial expression for anything, any sign at all as to what in the hell is going on. Anna gives away nothing until she gets down to the bottom of the page.

Whatever’s at the bottom of the page, it causes Anna to take the biggest breath possible. It’s a long time before she exhales and when she does, it’s weak, like she can barely let it go. Andy’s heart really starts to race then and she forgets about how weird simply coming to see this woman is and how this is the worst time imaginable for her attitude issues to turn up, and starts to seriously feel like something is _seriously_ wrong.

“Tell her I will put my ear to the ground,” Anna says, holding up the paper. “It’s unlikely…but you never know. We might get lucky, Andrea.” Andy tries hard not to gasp when Anna says her name because no else ever has. Not like that anyway. And she doesn’t like it, oddly enough. It sounds completely wrong coming out of someone else’s mouth.

“You can call me Andy,” she says, totally prepared to fight about it if necessary.

Unlike Miranda, Anna, thankfully, seems to have no problem with whatever a person wants to be called. “Alright, then,” she says. “ _Andy_ , whoever has these might be a complete _idiot_ and try to sell them. Who knows? But I have many connections.” Anna looks impatiently at the phone in the middle of the small coffee table that is between them.

So this is about help. Anna Wintour is going to help Miranda, and the list of people that care about her grows yet again. Apparently they’ve got more of a relationship than just ‘enemies’. Andy will never be surprised by anything again.

Anna pauses and gives Andy a hard look. Repeating her earlier words, she says, “Miranda obviously trusts you.”

Andy shakes her head and with confidence she says, “Yes. Yes, she does.” And then, for some ungodly reason she adds, “And I trust her.”

Startled isn’t the right word for whatever Anna is right now at Andy’s bold declaration. It’s plainly written on her face; that is the _last_ thing she expected to hear. Which is understandable because who in the hell trusts Miranda? Despite the look on her face and without voicing her feelings on the matter of trust any further, Anna goes on. “Have you read over this list?”

“No.” Andy replies, figuring that from now on she should just stick to ‘yes’ and ‘no’, and forget all about elaboration.

“I see.”

After a another moment of just staring at Andy again, Anna pulls her chair closer to the coffee table and starts to dial a number, setting the phone to speaker mode. As it beings to ring, she says, “I’m tired of waiting for him to call. One of my _connections_.”

The call is on its fifth ring now; Anna, totally frustrated, pushes her hair behind her ears which makes her look less tired and so young. Andy can’t remember ever seeing her with her hair pushed back like this and knows she’s staring but couldn’t care less. Anna’s been staring at her since she walked in the door, so it’s only fair.

“I swear…” Anna mumbles, eyes fixed on the still ringing phone, like she can will her _connection_ to answer. “Lionel is like a bad house-elf. Incredibly loyal and obedient, but chronically late. I really don’t know why I put up with it.”

Andy’s feet start to go numb as Anna continues to go on about this Lionel character—who is a bad house-elf. House-elf? Holy crap. Look who else is a Potterhead…

While Andy wonders if Miranda gave her a copy of that infamous manuscript and contemplates that she should probably take back that thing about never being surprised by anything again, Lionel finally answers the phone.

“ _What_ , Anna?” Lionel, the bad house-elf grumbles. Unlike Anna and definitely unlike Miranda, his British accent is not something you could ever hope to miss, and he’s clearly just woken up. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Time for you to get up,” Anna says. “It’s nearly one o’clock!”

“Which means _morning_ here in Paris.”

Anna glares at the phone. “Which means you should be _awake_. Now, look… I have the list.”

“Oh!” Lionel sounds far more coherent now and like he’s fallen out of the bed. Andy can easily sympathize.

“I’ll email it to you shortly.”

“Good…shit, where are my glasses?”

“I have no idea, Lionel.” Anna leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, making herself seem even smaller. “But I’m sure you’ll find them,” she says, rubbing her temples.

“Yeah… So, as happy as I am to help out, you know it’s been less than a day, right? What do you expect me to do?”

As if Andy’s interest wasn’t piqued already, it definitely is now because finally, she’s about to hear something of use.

“I don’t know,” Anna says, and that’s the last thing Andy wants to hear. “Just keep your eyes and ears open, will you? On the last one especially.”

“Right… It’s the girl. With the blue dress, right? I still have the picture you gave me.”

Anna’s eyes have been closed for a few seconds but now they snap open with annoyance. “ _Yes_.” She waves her hands wildly in the air. “And it’s cerulean, you idiot.”

“Sorry!” Lionel cries. “But you know—“

Anna cuts him off. “I don’t care!” She says, raising her voice, which throws Andy for a loop and the desperate look on Anna’s face is even more unsettling. “I don’t care, Lionel. I cannot stress enough how little I care. This must be found and you _will_ help me. I don’t care about anything else but this.”

Lionel starts to say something else but Anna hangs up on him. Just like that, she hangs up on him and Andy’s pretty sure that he’s probably used to that from Anna. It really doesn’t faze Andy either because she’s trying to process so much at once. This painting, this girl in a cerulean blue dress (how hilarious is that?) seems pretty fucking important to Anna. In fact, right now she looks like she’s about to have a full blown panic attack over the whole thing. Maybe she is already…

“Please tell me this is just a nightmare.” Anna looks at Andy like she really wants, no, _needs_ those exact words to come out of her mouth. There’s only one problem. This isn’t a nightmare and they both know it.

“I wish it was,” Andy says.

“I’m sure you do,” Anna replies with nothing but honesty in her voice.

What else is there to say?

Once it is obvious Andy is at a loss for words, Anna asks, “Miranda hasn’t told you a single thing about this, has she?”

Andy can only shake her head and hope to God Anna feels like volunteering the information.

“Which is so like her,” Anna sighs. “I should have expected as much. But you know, _Andy_ , that _explanation_ …is not one of her best qualities. Don’t you?”

Andy simply nods in understanding. The fact that Miranda never explains herself isn’t news to anyone. Least of all to her. She only hopes that in time, that gets better.

As if she can read her mind, Anna easies Andy’s fears. “She will improve, I imagine.”

One can only hope… Then again, why the hell would Anna say such a thing? Before Andy can shut her mouth, she asks, “What do you mean?”

Anna never tells her. Instead, without any warning at all, she changes the subject entirely, telling Andy all about this painting of a girl in a cerulean blue dress. It’s not just a painting worth untold millions. And Anna was right when she said she wasn’t the enemy. She couldn’t be less so.

For the next twenty minutes, Andy is nothing but a sponge, already knowing that at the first opportunity, she’s got to write every bit of this down because it’s entirely possible Anna will never tell this story again. It’s too meaningful, and too unlike the person everybody knows Anna to be.

When Anna went back home in the mid-eighties to take over British Vogue, she’d just gotten married. Ripping apart a magazine, to build it back up again, was nothing new to her; Anna already understood how to make that happen. It was in her blood, after all. But marriage was different and harder than she’d anticipated. It wasn’t turning out to be something she could just wake up and be good at it. It took work.

And the press at home was worse than she remembered. They never had anything good to say about her. Then again she didn’t give them good things to say, so whose fault was it really? Basically, everything they said, she deserved. The only reason it cut her at all was probably just because insecurity was quietly building up inside for the first time in her life.

What do you need the most when everything is starting to feel impossible? Advice. Her husband might have been a renowned child psychologist but much to her later dismay, he wasn’t all that great at really listening to _her_. And let’s be honest, he barely knew what Anna was talking about half the time. Going to her father, Charles, was out of the question. Though she was his favorite, doubt and security issues were like blood in the water to him and anyway, he was busy, having just divorced her mother, Nonie, only a handful of years earlier…he had a new wife and lot on his plate. Anna had never been one to go to her mother so that was automatically a no-go. It was all just a mess, really. _She_ was a well covered up mess…

Until a woman named Halina took over a very large chunk of her life.

She owned a place Anna walked by all the time and ignored, or used to. It had once been a small pharmacy, run by Halina’s much older husband, but he’d retired and subsequently died a year later. Halina said goodbye to him and the pharmacy by tearing it apart, until it was just one large, open space. She filled it with artwork done by any starving artist that happened to come around. Some of it she bought, some of it she sold for them, but mostly, Halina just talked. And nonstop, too.

Besides artwork, the building was littered with mismatched tables, chairs and people. It might as well have been a café, but Halina never agreed even though drink and food flowed throughout. For her it was just a place to look at pretty paintings all day. A place to hear and tell stories. Just something to take up her time. _That’s all_.

What it really did was slowly take up more and more of Anna’s time. Stopping one day to get a closer at a painting she’d seen in the window turned into visit after visit after visit. All to listen to endless chatter which wasn’t Anna’s style at all. She blamed it more on her sudden pregnancy and less on the fact that besides disappearing with Bob Marley for a week a couple of years ago, this was the greatest escape imaginable.

One Saturday, Anna was drinking her tenth cup of tea before she was absolutely going to _have_ to leave for yet another party that her growing belly really wasn’t in the mood for. Halina was regaling her with a tale about her daughter Miriam, who at the age of eight beat up a boy nearly twice her size, on a regular basis, because he enjoyed kicking his own dog. Miriam lived in Paris now, doing what, Anna had no idea but she hoped they got a chance to meet one day. Anyone that could kick the crap out of someone twice their size was somebody Anna wanted to meet. Especially then, while the press was on her back all the time. It was her hope that some of Miriam’s childhood feistiness would rub off.

So while Anna was busy hiding, with her sunglasses plastered to her face of course, Halina suddenly burst into tears, staring at the latest painting someone had just dropped off only moments before, right in the middle of her story. It really wasn’t anything special. Just a landscape; Anna clearly recognized Victoria Park. Add in the girl in an unremarkable cerulean blue dress, sitting by the water reading a book and it was altogether boring.

Usually uncomfortable with dramatic displays of emotions, Anna was pulled to action because this wasn’t just anybody. This was Halina.

Well the tears just kept coming and when Halina started to explain herself not in English, but Polish—Anna started to internally freak out, which wasn’t her style either. The concept of freaking out was about as foreign a thing as this language she was hearing Halina speak for the first time. She’d always had an accent but Anna had never asked her where she was from originally and Halina never volunteered that information. In fact, now that Anna was faced with it, she realized all of Halina’s stories centered around her adult life. Never on her childhood or teenage years. And the only family she ever spoke of was her husband or her daughter.

Halina lived upstairs in a little apartment she’d made for herself after her husband’s death. Anna had never been up there until now; everybody was starting to stare and fret and Halina hated that kind of thing, so upstairs they’d gone. By now Anna should have been at that party but it seemed like such an insignificant thing compared to this. Leaving Halina alone in that moment just wasn’t something she could do.

With fresh tea made, and in the absence of sunglasses and walls that cut her off from so many things, Anna’s entire life was jumbled up and set down in a new order. One story changed everything.

Halina and her twin brother Karol were around eight years old when the possibility of Germany invading Kraków stopped being something they just heard about in whispers.

Before then, while their mother did nothing but dote on them every second of the day, their father was a lawyer and an art collector. In an upstairs hallway of their home, Halina’s favorite painting was displayed. Her father bought it a long time ago; it was by somebody famous, she knew that at least but didn’t really care about the man’s name. Halina was more interested in growing up to be like the lady in the picture. Her dress was so pretty, the nicest shade of blue. And she looked very smart sitting there by the water with her book, all by herself. Her parents weren’t around to tell her what to do. The days Halina spent on a window-seat waiting for her father to come home, trying to look pretty and smart with her favorite book, would soon end though.

Halina’s father fancied himself a painter too, but that never really worked out, so it was more or less a hobby. That would end soon as well. Things like invasions and hobbies didn’t really go together and when words like _registration_ , _armbands_ and _fear_ took the place of that very pretty and smart looking lady in her favorite painting—Halina’s only question was, “Why are they afraid of us?”

No one ever had an answer for her, which was unacceptable because Halina liked all her questions answered; how else was she supposed to get any smarter if no one ever had any answers? More importantly, how could anyone be afraid of her? She was eight, going on nine and never got into much trouble. Except on Saturdays. Somehow Saturdays had become synonymous with getting into fights with the boy next door. It really couldn’t be helped though. He was always kicking his dog and somebody had to do something about it—and it might as well be her. But other than that, she was harmless. They were all harmless, nice people so why was this man Hitler so incredibly afraid? No one ever had any answers for her.

With barely anything at all to carry, and without warning or understanding why, Halina, her brother, and parents were eventually herded into something called a Ghetto. The art, all those fine and pretty things in her life…and her grandparents, disappeared. And she lost track of the boy that always kicked his dog.

Four families, sometimes more, were crammed together in apartments. Even under the very new and strange circumstances, this was probably where Halina’s deep enjoyment of talking, listening and meeting new people began. Being so young, sometimes it was hard to feel the crushing fear and realize that all the closeness was nothing more than a shadow of what was to come. She didn’t know any better. And besides, to Halina, life was ever changing and most things were temporary. Somehow, her optimism was never broken. There are just some things that can never be taken away; so with that in mind, Halina would live on hope and not much else for many years.

There wasn’t a thing in the world that could have prepared her and her brother Karol for something called _liquidation_. To her, it should have simply been called _separation_.  In the middle of Halina’s first true taste of terror, her father was shot. Apparently being on the Jewish Council and refusing to pick, choose and write down a list of names was hardly seen as favorable. But the real separation would come the next day.

Karol had been sick for a while, probably with typhus, and was ripped away, carried to a different place, while Halina and her mother were taken a short distance to Plaszów, a concentration camp built on top of two cemeteries. They never saw him again.

To say that she and her brother were close, barely scratched the surface. They were twins after all so of course they were close. Feelings, thoughts were connected by the strongest of cords. Everything between them was tied together.

Endlessly screaming for him when the disconnection came nearly got Halina killed. If not for the sheer force of her mother’s hand over her mouth, she would have been shot right there in the street. And that wouldn’t be the last time her mother was solely responsible for her survival. Or maybe it was just luck. Time spent questioning such things would never be something Halina allowed herself to do. There was little point in it.

While living on constant doses of terror, hope and little else, hard work seemed to be something Halina could manage pretty well. And she knew how to hide when the time was right, and she knew how to stand for hours on end every morning for roll-call without being beaten for falling asleep in line. She was beaten anyway, sometimes, but never for falling asleep which was an odd point of pride for her. In the worst weather conditions Halina could stand awake forever, thinking of nothing else besides the pretty and very smart looking lady in that painting. It was the one thing she made herself remember about that other life. A life that honestly didn’t seem real anymore.

She tried very hard to remember all the stories too and all the people she met, no matter how quickly they came along then disappeared to gas chambers, the hottest of fires, or over a hill to end up in a lifeless pile. Even in the middle of hell, there was always time for a good story. But mostly, there was just terror, hope and little else… And as time went by, while her optimistic outlook still held strong, Halina truly began to wonder if ‘temporary’ was even a real word.

A new kind of terror came in the middle of 1944. Halina was just thirteen, but tall for her age thanks to her father so when everyone was made to form a line to be stripped, examined and tested for their worth, she was with the women. The children that were unlucky in finding a hiding place were rounded up to be kept away from the adults. Halina, who had already escaped death a handful of times, was fit enough to survive once more. Her mother, however, was not and room had to be made for the others on their way. Over a thousand were taken away and Halina was left to stifle the screaming of yet another separation, all by herself.

After that, death seemed to come faster and faster. But something else came with it; whispers of a possible ending that did not involve death, but living. Whispers of freedom and a word that Halina had never heard: _liberation_. It didn’t come easily though and luck would have to save Halina a handful of times through being transported to Auschwitz then Bergen-Belsen.

Then, liberation itself nearly killed her. While trying to believe that it was actually happening at all, Halina became a victim to typhus. With constant thoughts of her favorite painting and with a stronger belief in the word _temporary_ than ever before, she beat that too.

Much of Bergen-Belsen was burnt to the ground afterward and down the road a camp was built for the ‘displaced’. And Halina was certainly displaced. None of her family was alive so far as she knew. Distant relatives that might have been in other parts of the world weren’t something she knew anything about; being so young when this temporary thing began. That turned out to be just fine though because a community rose up almost instantly inside the camp and remembering what a social life was really like, was soon a more pressing matter than simply surviving. There was school to attend, parties, everybody was getting married and of course, there was always her painting, resting comfortably in her head.

To her delight, after a few false starts, Halina was able to sew a dress for herself out of the nicest blue fabric. When she put it on, she expected to be filled with joy. And she was, but there was pain too and tears for all the separations she’d been forced to face. The most ironic thing was that this time, when the screaming came she didn’t have to stifle it. Nobody was going to kill Halina for crying and there were plenty of arms from new friends and made-up family members to rush in and cry with her.

Later she met a young and very shy British officer named Joe. Well his name was Josef but everybody called him Joe—and he wanted nothing more than to go home and become a pharmacist. That didn’t sound very exciting to Halina but she supposed there were worse things to do with one’s time. And if you overlooked the pharmacist bit, Joe was certainly polite, plenty handsome and he knew her name meant ‘light’ without having to be told.

She was probably too young, but there wasn’t anyone around to tell her what to do, so when the idea of marriage popped into her head, Halina asked. Even though the asking was a completely turned around ordeal, Joe, after some careful thought, was alright with it and figured out a way to make it happen.

Back in England, he got to become a pharmacist and she got to raise a feisty little girl that beat up the boy next door every chance she got because he liked to kick his own dog. And Halina was eventually able to convince Joe that he could be adventurous and be a pharmacist at the same time, so that made life even better.

Soon enough though, Miriam would go off to Paris to become the editor of some _non-sense_ called Runway. She’d change her name too, but it wasn’t a big deal. Even Joe agreed that the name Miriam Princhek just didn’t seem like something you’d see in a fashion magazine. Besides, she would always be Miriam to everybody that really loved and knew her, so if she wanted other people to call her something else, what difference did it make?

In spite of Joe, feisty little Miriam—who would later become Miranda—and Halina’s very full and busy life, the missing painting was never far from her mind. It had held her together for so long, letting go of it was impossible. Letting go would have been like losing her soul. Her only hope was that its absence would eventually turn out to be a temporary thing like everything else in life. At least before she died. Before then, she at least wanted to see that very pretty and smart lady in the nicest cerulean dress imaginable, one more time…

Well, Andy’s heart is in her throat and she’s forgotten how to breathe. She can tell that Anna isn’t doing much better. She confirms that this is the first time she’s said any of this aloud. Andy just hopes to God she remembers every single word long enough to go home and put this on paper. If she forgets even the shortest sentence, it’ll probably kill her. Forgetting is not an option. Forgetting Halina is not an option.

Before Andy can figure out how to talk, to ask the most basic of questions, Anna gives her the rest.

“For twenty years I cared more about that painting than Vogue. And I had no idea, for myself, what it looked like or who painted it. I had nothing but her memory. And yes, Miriam and I finally met.”

“How did that go?” Andy finally manages to speak.

Anna rolls her eyes and even smiles. “Well enough. Halina knew who I was the entire time.”

 _Crap_.

Though she didn’t voice the word, Anna reads the look on her face. “Indeed,” she says. “We met after I had my son. Right before it all went downhill we were given the law of the land, so to speak. Halina said, ‘There are no editors here, no enemies. So deal with it.’.”

“And apparently you did.”

Anna shakes her head. “Somehow, yes. Miriam and I don’t talk about business. We know better.”

So it’s Miriam. Andy realizes that Anna’s not actually said _Miranda_ a single time since she began this story. So it’s Miriam… Could she ever pull that off? Or would come out sounding just as weird as hearing _Andy_ come out of Miranda’s mouth would? Probably so. Which is sad in more ways than one…

Startling Andy out of this depressing train of thought, Anna says, “A few years ago…I found it by accident. I was in Paris. A party…someone you know but I won’t ever reveal it. I was about to walk out onto this veranda when I saw it out of the corner of my eye. A very pretty and awfully smart looking girl in a cerulean colored dress. I’m not one for fainting, but I almost did that night.”

By now, Andy’s on the edge of her seat, a bundle of nervous excitement.

“It took two days of bargaining and I hate to admit it,” Anna makes a face of disgust, “But some begging was involved. I was desperate though… I don’t think I’ve ever been more desperate for anything in my life. Of course money was truly of no consequence. I would have spent every dime; he simply didn’t want to part with it and I wasn’t about to explain my true reason for wanting it. And he didn’t know what he had…not truly. We know now that the gaps in ownership, in records, are miles wide. Lionel gets all the credit there.”

Pausing, Anna reaches for a small box on the floor by her chair that Andy failed to notice before. From inside, she hands over three pictures. The first is of Anna (and she’s got the biggest smile on her face) in what looks like a hotel room. And there she is with her dress and book, looking very smart indeed, and a lot like Andy; a fact that she chooses to forget about right away.

Being held up by Anna, the painting seems enormous and heavy—but it’s obvious that Anna is completely oblivious to its weight.

While Andy continues to stare at that first photograph, Anna continues. “I flew my daughter to Paris on a private jet just so she could turn right around and help me bring it back to New York. That was probably a bit overboard but I can’t deny that I really wasn’t thinking too clearly at that point. It’s a good thing she was there though. I barely let go of it long enough to change clothes, much less do anything else and I most certainly didn’t sleep.”

But wait… Back to New York?

“Back to New York?” Andy asks, as she looks at the second photograph. It’s of Anna and _Miriam_. Judging from the carpet, Andy can tell they’re at the townhouse, sitting on the floor, staring at the wall, at the painting.

“Yes, back to New York,” Anna says and Andy looks up just in time to see that her eyes have shifted to floor and she’s fiddling with her sunglasses like she’s only seconds away from putting them on. “Halina died just a year before that. So she… Well I failed, basically.” Anna laughs bitterly, eyes still focused on the floor.”

“You didn’t fail, Anna.” Andy can’t help but say.

“I disagree,” Anna clears her throat and looks up with something of a mixture of defiance and disappointment in her eyes. “But at least it’s been found. And there are others. Halina never described any to me; but Lionel is up to his eyeballs in documents…copies of ledgers, looking for the rest. Or at least clues. I just can’t believe it’s gone again.”

Wrapped up in all this information, Andy sort of forgot that it’s obviously been taken away again… Before she can say as much, or even look at the third photograph, her phone rings for the first time in the hour she’s been here. Christ, she’s been here an hour.

“Don’t answer that,” Anna says immediately and Andy doesn’t know what to do. She’s basically programmed to answer her phone. And she knows it’s Miranda. There’s not a doubt in her mind. How can she _not_ answer her phone? She barely understands what such a request even means.

“Do _not_ answer it,” Anna repeats, standing quickly as the phone keeps going off. “Frankly, I can’t believe it took her this long.”

“I can’t either,” Andy says, standing as well and gathering up her bag. One more ring, and the phone goes silent.

“No, you don’t understand. I lied to her; she’s bound to have finally realized…”

Andy can only look at her with wide eyes.

“I told her to send someone because I had package for her. There is no package. But I knew Miriam would send _you_.”

“I don’t understand…”

Anna steps up to her and in a surprising move, puts her hands on Andy’s shoulders.

“Andy, I saw you last year. I saw you in Paris… _leave_. I was only a few cars behind.”

What in the hell… Andy’s feet are starting to go numb again. She saw… Anna saw her walk away. But Miranda didn’t. Or if she did she never let on. Andy’s idiocy only lasted sixty seconds at the most and there was such a crowd that day.

Anna shakes her to get her attention because it’s far gone. “Don’t do it again,” she says sternly. “You went back, which tells me everything, by the way. But don’t do it again. Or if you do, don’t let me be around to watch it. I know how you must feel. I’m not an idiot; I have eyes. For the past year you’re always by her side and I can tell a difference. Between _you_ and everyone else, I can tell a difference so _don’t_ walk away again. Just _don’t_.”

“Well I…I’m not going to, Anna.”

“Good. See that you don’t.” Anna says, looking somewhat relieved. “I will kill you if you breathe a word of this but she’s like my sister, alright? Don’t even tell her I said that. She’ll torture me for it.”

“I won’t,” Andy shakes her head back and forth…and her phone starts to ring again.

“Don’t answer it,” Anna turns Andy around and starts pushing her toward the door. “I’ll call her. I’ll take care of this. Just don’t go back empty handed. Stop at Starbucks first. That’ll save us both.”

“You sure about that?” Andy’s definitely not believing it.

“I’m sure,” Anna says as they reach the door. She turns Andy back around and for a minute it feels like she’s being inspected before rushing out the door to catch the school bus. Anna fixes the collar of her shirt and even smooths the fabric of her sleeves. “You’re an absolute mess. Who dresses you? Nigel?”

“Yeah.” Andy can’t help but chuckle.

“He’s obviously insane. Go now. I’ll call you if I have anything from Lionel. I probably won’t…but we live on hope, don’t we?”

“We do.” Andy opens the door and Anna practically pushes her through it, all the while telling her one more time to avoid her phone at all cost.

And just like that, it’s over. She’s exiting the building not a minute later and it seems like the world has never been so big or unthreatening. In fact, Andy is so impervious to anything remotely evil, that when she sees Christian Thompson in Starbucks ten minutes later, she doesn’t even care. That legion of Dementors is far behind him. He is nothing. He is so temporary and insignificant, not even a bug worth stepping on, and when he comes up to Andy and starts to do his usual flirting bit, it’s entirely too easy to walk right past him on her way out the door. There are much more important things than Christian Fucking Thompson—like a painting that must be found again. No matter what it takes, it’s got to be found again.

 As Andy walks through the doors of Runway, coming closer and closer to Miranda (who is probably pissed as hell right now), the feeling that the girl in a cerulean blue dress _will_ be found again is all but pouring right out of Andy’s skin. She’s never been full of more hope than in this moment. It will be found.

The absence of it is only temporary, like so many other things in life.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could I take you to Nerd Land with Harry Potter and Star Wars without reminding you of the incredibly strong current of our history that runs through them both? No. That would be pretty impossible for me. If this chapter really wasn't your cup of tea - trust me, I understand. Large doses of seriousness are not always at the top of everyone's list. But for those of you that are alright with this chapter --- thank you for sticking with me.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a slow night at the office so I have time to pass out another chapter! Thank you all so much for your comments on Chapter Twelve. I am totally blown away by the response on AO3, FFnet and LJ. I am forever in your debt. Thank you for reading and as always - thank you for sticking with me.

Chapter Thirteen

Miranda’s office door is closed when Andy walks in. Judging by the sounds coming from the other side, Anna’s brilliant plan of, “I’ll take of this. Just bring coffee…blah, blah, blah,” is turning out to be the biggest failure known to man. Like what would have happened if Luke Skywalker had missed his target and the Death Star hadn’t been blown up after all. Fantastic.

Without putting her bag down, without giving a damn about the nasty look on Emily’s face and definitely without a care in the world about what the more practical and realistic choice is, Andy opens the door and walks right in, closing it behind her.

As soon as Miranda sees her coming through, she hangs up on Anna, slamming the phone down. “I’m about to walk down the street and _stab_ her in the _face_ with a _pencil_ ,” she says, pointing her finger toward the window like it’s a weapon all on its own.

Well, okay then… A pencil? She wants to stab her _sister_ in the face? Really? Jesus…

Before Andy can respond, as she walks over to Miranda’s desk to set her handbag and the coffee down, the rant continues.

Waving her hands in the air and pacing back and forth, Miranda says, “She had no right! Absolutely no right. And I can’t believe I fell for that. Of all the things… I’m going to stab her. With a pencil. A very _blunt_ pencil, Andrea.”

Miranda finally goes silent (for a second anyway) and before she can start up again, Andy foolishly says, “It would probably be better if you just took a deep breath and concentrated on your coffee, Miranda.”

By some miracle, that seems to take the fight out of Miranda and then the real issue is brought forth.

After taking that deep breath and grabbing her coffee she faces the window and in the quietest voice, Miranda admits to what’s really bothering her. “I never intended for you to know… Maybe in the future, but not right now.”

 _Oh_. So this is about protection. It’s not necessarily about Anna tricking her, or Andy being gone so long. Miranda just didn’t want Andy to find out about Halina. About the real meaning of words like _fear_ and _separation_ … Or, maybe Miranda is just uncomfortable talking about it? No, she might be uncomfortable talking about it but Andy’s gut tells her her first guess is closer to the truth. This is about protection.

“She thought differently, I guess.” Andy speaks softly in hopes that this calms Miranda down even further and takes a few steps forward. Miranda doesn’t move from the window or even look at her. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to protect me, Miranda.”

Well there couldn’t have been a worse thing to say than that, and the look on Miranda’s face when she whips her head around to look at Andy, is devastating.

“I’m sorry to tell you this Andrea,” Miranda says, still looking devastated and even a little bitter, “But I’ve felt that way for quite some time. So deal with it. Or don’t. It’s your choice I suppose. The point is, it’s just not something I can simply turn _off_. And…and…”

Miranda stops in mid-sentence and looks past Andy’s shoulder at the door. It’s closed of course but it’s like she wants to double check, which makes Andy’s chest tighten even more since Miranda’s starting to talk about making choices and turning things off.

Having confirmed that they are in fact alone, Miranda looks Andy dead in the eye and says, “My children slept in your home last night, Andrea. In your bed…and so did I. You practically ran down the hall when Caroline woke up crying… Don’t tell me bringing us into your home _wasn’t_ about protection! Yet, you expect me to _not_ feel the same way… I can’t do that.”

Realizing in an instant that their relationship has just jumped ahead by about ten levels, Andy goes into action. She’s already made the more practical and realistic choice. When will this ever be obvious to Miranda?

“Hold on, hold on,” she says, holding her hands out in front of her as she moves even closer. “I didn’t say that, Miranda. I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t share things with me. No matter what it is… Okay? I don’t expect you to turn anything _off_. I just want you to know I will listen…”

A look of total confusion replaces Miranda’s earlier devastated expression and it’s not a surprise. When has anybody ever told Miranda Priestly that they want her to _share_? Or that they will be there to listen? Since that look of confusion is still firmly in place seconds later, Andy comes around the desk and just goes for it. Well, she doesn’t _go_ for it all the way, for their first kiss, instead she puts her arms around Miranda, who is defiant and stiff as a board. Andy hangs on, though, and tightens her hold.

Just like that night in her kitchen, Miranda finally relents and this time, she actually puts her arms around Andy’s waist. She has no idea what she expected this to feel like, but Miranda’s arms around her is the most comfortable thing in the world. And it’s safe, like whatever bad things are going on around them have been washed away. Even if it’s just temporary, the bad things don’t exist in this moment.

It lasts for far longer than it probably should; Runway has to go on but it seems like such an inconsequential thing right now, barely important at all. Finally, they separate and it doesn’t feel so terrible because Andy knows she’s not going anywhere and Miranda’s not about to go to prison for stabbing Anna in the face with a pencil, so everything is okay.

“Feel better?”

“I suppose,” Miranda says, like she hates she’s even admitting it in the first place. “But I’m still angry at her. It should have been my choice.”

“I understand that,” Andy sighs, hoping to God that they’re not about to go in a circle. “It’s done though.”

“Right...”

Her phone is deep inside the depths of her handbag but Andy can still hear it beep softly with the delivery of what is probably the hundredth email of the day. This puts them both back into work mode and without another word, Andy returns to her desk.

Ignoring Emily’s bitching and moaning is pretty easy since there is an hours’ worth of work to catch up on. That is until she reads that latest email. It’s from some obscure Gmail account, made up of a bunch of letters and numbers that don’t mean a thing. Andy almost deletes it. It doesn’t even have a subject line… But curiosity wins.

It simply reads: _Are you still alive?_

So it’s Anna. Are they about to become pen pals, or what? Well, actually, that can’t happen. Whether she uses Gmail or not, there’s no way in hell Andy trusts a networked Runway computer that damn much. Not with Emily around.

After some thought, the only thing she’s willing to reply is simply her cellphone number. That’s just as much of an ignorant thing to do, start texting with Anna Wintour on a company phone, but Andy has a feeling that texting will somehow be much safer than emails ever will be.

In seconds, Anna texts her back with the same question. In the name of good, old fashioned insanity Andy saves the number under the name Sybill Trelawney and tries hard not to crack up. Just think about it for a second…how hilarious is that?

Once Andy lets Anna…or Sybill know that she is alive and well, the only other question Anna has is: _Is she on her way to stab me with a pencil?_

Andy laughs, Emily gives her a nasty look which she ignores, then lets Anna know she’s safe from the threat of pencils and that’s that. Texting time is over and it’s back to work for Andy; she barely sees Miranda for two solid hours.

Around three o’clock, a pretty shitty thing happens though. Miranda marches back in from a budget meeting and marches right back out, coat and bag in hand, mumbling something about Darren meeting her in the parking garage, about picking up the girls from school… And then going home.

Well, fuck. What just happened?

Never mind that they haven’t discussed a single thing about the state of the townhouse, how any of Miranda’s appointments or phone calls went today with insurance companies, Detective Henley, her lawyer and a million other people went. The most important thing they never spoke about today was if Miranda and the girls were staying with Andy for another night. And that really, really sucks. In fact, it sucks so much Andy has to lock herself in the restroom for a few minutes just to avoid looking like a pathetic mess in front of Emily.

But she could call Miranda, right? She could call her and just ask. Or text. God knows Andy’s plenty good at texting today. Or she could just call Cara. Cara would probably know. Hell, at this point Leslie might know more about what’s gone on today with Miranda than she does. One missed hour is like twelve in Miranda’s timeline so Andy’s basically missed out on an entire day’s worth of knowledge. And she really, really wants Miranda and girls to stay with her. She really wants them there. _Really_.

In spite of all the options she has, for some reason Andy can’t figure out which one is the more practical and realistic choice to make. If anybody told her flat out, right here in the office that Miranda wasn’t staying with her tonight she’d probably have some kind of weird breakdown. That’s just how important this is. She needs them close by.

Since Yoda isn’t around to give her a backward answer and good ol’ Professor Trelawney isn’t around to read the bottom of a cup of tea that Andy wouldn’t ever drink in the first place, she buries herself in work again.

Another blow is dealt around five o’clock and once again it occurs to Andy that she’s feeling more than just a little frayed at the edges. It has been a long day that’s hardly over yet. Monday’s are always rough but this one doesn’t even begin to compare to the rest.

The blow comes in the form of Nigel quickly darting in then right back out, informing her that he’s staying late tonight to look over the Book. Part of her wishes she could ask him if he knows anything, but that’s honestly too risky, even though he knows where Miranda was last night.  In the asking, he would probably pick up on more information than Andy wants him to have right now. Nigel can’t know about the other _stuff_. Not yet.

Considering how she feels, Andy has no problem ditching work. Whatever is not done can be done tomorrow. Emily’s bitchy about it but Andy doesn’t say a word in reply as she marches out the door in a near perfect imitation of Miranda. She is getting the _hell_ out of here and going straight to her apartment. Sure she could go to the townhouse (it takes everything in her not to) but what if Miranda doesn’t want her to be there? Andy is certain that if Miranda _did_ , she would have let her know somehow and Andy’s been checking her phone and email compulsively. Miranda has not called her…

The subway ride is as crowded and mind-numbing as ever. Usually Andy listens to music on her phone or reads a book on the way home but today she chooses to focus on nothing but cereal choices. From what Miranda said this morning, Caroline and Cassidy decimated her _collection_ so going to the market is an automatic.

Everybody that comes to this place tends to do the bulk of their shopping on the weekend so it’s hardly crowded. But _hello_ , Saturday morning there were about twenty boxes of Luck Charms on the shelf and there’s none now. There’s no way in hell all twenty boxes can be gone in two days. What the fuck…

With more Fruit Loop’s, Captain Crunch and a bunch of other shit she doesn’t need in her shopping cart, Andy makes her way back over to the produce and sees Zeb, the middle-aged bald guy with a really terrible looking mustache that owns the place. And he looks frustrated (actually he looks completely pissed) but Andy doesn’t care. She’s going to bitch to him about the Lucky Charms anyway.

Straightaway she says, “Zeb where’s my Lucky Charms. You know I need that on a more than regular basis or I’ll die.”

Zeb is elbow deep in the tomato display. “Where’s the Lucky Charms?” He asks right back, like she is a total idiot. “Where’s the Lucky Charms? I’ll tell you.” He waves a hand toward that direction. “First of all, I only had three boxes left, okay! Then, two kids ran through here like this was a playground with Mommy Dearest trailing behind—in a fur coat and sunglasses, looking like she’d never bought food in her life! That’s where the Lucky Charms are!”

Well, Andy turns the shopping cart around so fast that she runs right into that same huge crate of oranges just like she did on Saturday. She cannot run fast enough, having left the shopping cart right there in the store, full of food, without a single ounce of regret. And make no mistake, Zeb is yelling at her but Andy is too happy. His words are meaningless.

She trips four times running up the stairs to her apartment. The elevator would have been too slow. And where in the fuck are her keys? Her Prada handbag is nearly ripped to pieces in the process of finding them. It’s a miracle but Andy is able to calm herself down enough to open the door like a normal person, and not someone on the verge of insanity. Actually she’s already insane, but who’s taking notes?

No one notices her when she walks in. The living room is devoid of people but the couch is covered by an enormous duffel bag and a garment bag that Andy knows all too well. They’re in the kitchen, she can hear them…and it is absolute perfection. There’s no way she will ever forget any of this.

Setting down her bag quietly and ridding herself of heels that she’s more than ready to get out of, Andy makes her way to the kitchen. No one notices her and she takes advantage of it, standing back to watch the scene that is unfolding.

Miranda’s at the sink; Andy can’t see what she’s doing but the waters running. Caroline is standing right by her, watching every single move Miranda makes and Cassidy is behind them, with her arms folded, just bitching away.

“I’m telling you right now,” Cassidy says in an authoritative tone, “I do _not_ eat artichokes. Ever. Seriously.”

“And I’m seriously telling you that you do!” Caroline says without even turning her head. Whatever Miranda is doing must be important. And ironically enough, she seems to be ignoring the debate entirely.  “You do all the time!” Caroline continues. “So shut up!”

“I don’t!” Cassidy yells at her and that must be Caroline’s breaking point because it sets off a storm.

“You know what,” Caroline doesn’t leave the counter but she does turn around at least. “I think Grandma lied when she said we hugged each other as soon as we were born—because I’m pretty sure the doctor dropped you and you bounced on the floor about _ten_ times!”

Well daaaaamn…

“He didn’t drop me,” Cassidy fires back. “He dropped you. _Dummy_. And you probably bounced _eleven_ times. It’s probably in a chart somewhere! Or on video!”

And that does it. Miranda’s obviously had enough because whatever she’s doing in the sink is dropped. She’s laughing so hard (without making a sound, which is a shame) that her back is shaking and once she’s able to speak, this whole ordeal just gets funnier.

“Alright, alright. No one was dropped!” Miranda says, trying to hold back another bout of laughter. “I was awake the _entire_ time, so trust me. I know. And _no_ , your grandmother was not lying to you. Don’t be ridiculous. You did hug each other. That’s utterly _tragic_ to hear, I’m sure, but just deal with it as best you can. And _yes_ ,” Miranda points at Cassidy with an exasperated look on her face, “I’m sorry, but you do eat artichokes! You’re probably thinking of something else.”

Without missing a beat Cassidy says, “I hate you both,” in a truly disgusted tone and heads off down the hall.

It’s then that Caroline notices Andy. Miranda notices her a second later and for the first time ever, she seems to find it necessary to greet her.

“Hello,” Miranda says with a small smile. “I was wondering when you were going to get here.”

Andy knows she’s blushing. For some reason she’s blushing. In front of Caroline, too. Which probably isn’t good, but Andy can’t seem to make it stop. And it’s even worse that in one second, she’s forgotten how to speak.

Of course, the next words out of Miranda’s mouth are, “Did you eat lunch?”

 _Crap_. No.

“Hi. Uh…no,” Andy shakes her head. “I kinda forgot.”

“Hm,” Miranda rolls her eyes and Caroline is just standing there staring at them.

Andy suddenly realizes she’s got to get out of the kitchen before she does something stupid like walk over and hug Miranda. Or kiss her.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go change.” Andy says this so fast that it practically comes out as one word and Miranda raises an eyebrow…and then she smirks. The look in her eyes reads like a dare.

Like she’s playing with Andy, daring her to do exactly what she’s thinking about.

 

TO BE CONTINUED 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miraculously, due to people not knowing how to do their jobs properly, I am still at work. As such, I thought I’d take a second to pass out another chapter since I have the time (I’m waiting on people to write reports so I can finish doing their jobs for them). Again, thank you all for your comments and emails of support. I am amazed at your generosity.

Chapter Fourteen

While Andy changes into jeans and a t-shirt, she tries to get over the fact that it’s taken her this long to realize how attracted she is to Miranda. Like _physically_ attracted.  That doesn’t explain this right, though. It’s not that she _didn’t_ know. It’s just that she’s always pushed the thought away. The closest she’s ever allowed herself to think about it was Saturday, and even then she did a hundred things to distract herself, denying the truth the chance to _fully_ present itself.

But, God, does she realize it now. The truth is out. It was probably plastered all over her face. No wonder Miranda smirked and made that voiceless dare. No wonder…

If only Andy could have done something about  it. The mood she’s in right now, Miranda would have probably ended up on the kitchen floor. And that’s so weird. Andy’s never felt this way. Like she’ll die if she doesn’t get her hands on someone. Nate never did that to her. He never made her feel this crazy.

Well, that does it. Within seconds of thinking about him, Andy feels a serious headache coming on. She hasn’t given Nate a single thought since Friday morning, wishing he’d stop bugging the shit out of her. Hopefully he’ll find a girlfriend soon and stop being so stupid.

If only she could stop answering the phone at work. That’s the only way he ever reaches her because there’s no caller ID. Or by email. They go straight into her junk folder but she still knows they’re there. The only good thing about the situation is that he hasn’t recruited Lily or Doug to hunt her down to do his begging for him. If that ever happens, Andy will flip for sure. They’re the last people she ever wants in her life again. Especially now.

Since this headache is working its way to full steam, Andy hurries up with her socks and heads toward the bathroom to find some drugs.

And guess who’s sitting on the bathmat watching cartoons on her flat screen television? _Cassidy_. She looks scared out of her mind when Andy walks in, like she’s about to be in serious trouble. Andy just shuts the door quietly and waves to her to sit back down. Cassidy’s smile is brighter than any light bulb.

“I love this,” she says, still grinning. “I want one in my bathroom, too!”

“That’s probably not going to happen,” Andy sighs as she rummages around in the medicine cabinet. Finding what she needs, she swallows the pills down quickly then takes a seat on the floor. “You’re mom already gave me a bunch of crap about it.”

“Oh, who cares? It’s not like it would be in _her_ bathroom.”

“Well she thinks I live in a Man Cave. I said Nerd Land was more like it.”

“You’re not a guy, so this is Nerd Land.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t think she’d go for a television in your bathroom. Anyway, she’d be the one paying for it and having it installed,” Andy points out.

“I have money. Problem solved.”

“Oh, boy.”

Cassidy grins again and turns the volume up one more notch. Old-school Bugs Bunny is on and this feels like the perfect way to end the day.

As Bugs is busy playing yet another joke on Elmer Fudd, Cassidy stares straight ahead and makes a pretty sad confession.

“It’s bell peppers,” she whispers. “I don’t like bell peppers. Mom was right. I got it confused.”

Andy knows that laughing at Cassidy would end in devastation so she plasters a neutral look on her face, staring straight ahead too. “I don’t like bell peppers either,” she says, completely avoiding the subject of Cassidy’s earlier meltdown. “And I don’t like broccoli. Or eggplant.”

“I don’t like those waxy green beans. They’re gross.”

“Yeah, they kinda are. Listen, I won’t say anything about the bell peppers.”

Cassidy finally turns her head and she looks extraordinarily thankful.

Fifteen minutes later Bugs Bunny isn’t even halfway over when somebody knocks once, and then opens the door wide. It’s apparent that in a house full of _girls_ , privacy is something no one can comprehend.

It would have been great if Caroline was the one standing there staring at them like they were completely out of their minds…but it’s Miranda.

“I can’t believe this,” she says with her hands on her hips, looking horrified. And sexy.

Oh, God. Not again.

Andy tries not to let her eyes slowly travel from Miranda’s feet, to her lips, but it’s a failure. In fact it’s such a failure that it feels like Harry never found all those Horcruxes. Then again maybe it’s not a failure at all because Miranda is blushing. Now they’re officially on equal footing and it makes Andy feel a little less guilty about really, _really_ wanting to do some very inappropriate things all of the sudden. Things that involve kissing Miranda until she can’t even stand up anymore.

Since they’re just staring at each other, it’s Cassidy that breaks the silence. Looking at them both like they’ve lost their minds, she gets up and says something about how she’s starving to death. Andy barely hears a word and Miranda just shakes her head and walks out, clearly in a daze. Her feet are numb again but Andy finds it within herself to get up, turn the television off and follow them into the kitchen.

This turns out to be one of the most eventful meals Andy has ever had. While she eats grilled chicken and stuffed artichokes like it’s her last dinner before execution, Caroline, Cassidy and Miranda (miracle of miracles) fill her in on all the things she’s missed out on today.

Since a lot of their bedroom furniture is broken, the girls are getting new beds and whatever else they need. They’ve got a list of websites to look at tonight so they can pick everything out because Cara is having it delivered tomorrow. A new television for the living room is already on its way, along with a bunch of other entertainment gadgets, but nothing for Cassidy’s bathroom.

And Cara, according to Miranda, has nearly gotten her _ship_ back in perfect condition. Darren has people coming in and out though so Cara’s still not as happy as she’d like to be. He’s having a better alarm system installed and new cameras that will not only record to a DVR, but also to a server somewhere up in the clouds.

While Cassidy continues to tell another part of their saga, Andy can’t help but notice that Caroline is quiet and maybe just a little pale. It’s clear that she doesn’t bounce back as fast as her sister. Miranda notices too and after Andy gives them the ‘okay’ to use her laptop in her makeshift study, they run off, eager to pick out thousands of dollars of new furniture.

As soon as they hear the girls chattering away, Miranda tells Andy the rest.

“The insurance company…that deals with my art collection is probably _still_ having a stroke.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Andy says, still stuffing her face.

Usually she’d be done by now but oddly enough Miranda keeps passing her more food. When has Miranda ever been eager for anybody to eat? Well, duh. Andy forgot to eat lunch. No wonder.

“And Detective Henley has nothing to report. But I am glad she’s involved. She seems capable enough.”

“Yeah,” Andy shakes her head trying not to talk with her mouth full. “She does.”

“At least I know my money is being well spent after all.”

What does _that_ mean, Andy wonders. Thankfully Miranda tells her without having to be asked because, yes, her mouth is still full.

With a quick look at the door where the twins have disappeared too, Miranda lowers her voice. “Anna throws all her money toward costume collections and such…I throw my money at politics. The mayor, the governor, they all benefit from my gifts to all their little pet projects and campaigns. Needless to say, I called Bloomberg after I called the police. I practically have him on speed dial; he owes me.

“So that’s why the place was surrounded and crawling with cops?”

Miranda simply nods.

“I didn’t know you were so…political.” Which is the honest to God truth. She’s never heard Miranda mention anything like that.

“I am. My mother practically had to force me to do it, but I am an American citizen. Once it was clear that I wasn’t going anywhere… She was intent on seeing that accomplished. I have no idea why, but I’m not stupid. There was always a point where you just did _not_ argue with her anymore.  So here I am. An American citizen who likes to support what is worth supporting, with large amounts of cash.”

With the mention of Halina Andy stops eating all together and wishes for nothing else than for Miranda’s mother to be sitting at this kitchen table. Andy’s only heard about her today, yet feels strangely robbed of her presence. It feels awful.

By the look on Miranda’s face, she’s thinking the same thing, but chooses to steer the conversation back toward political involvement.

“I’m not wild about the way Michael has switched parties so often. Actually, I do not appreciate that quality in anyone. It always ends up feeling as though one is simply changing parties to benefit themselves when it comes to an election; moving toward whatever is popular at the moment so they can remain in power. I suppose others might have different reasons for doing so… Values certainly change over time, but it never seems so in the moment. If Michael Bloomberg had not switched parties in 2001 he wouldn’t have been elected. Or that’s my belief. Honestly, it’s a day-to-day toss up of whether I even like him at all. But what do I know? I am hardly a political science major.”

The way Miranda seems to blow off her own viewpoints at the end, by almost accusing herself of being ignorant, is striking. It’s like Miranda is trying not to show that she cares quite as much as she does.

“You don’t need to have a degree in political science to form your own valid opinions, Miranda.”

“I suppose,” Miranda says looking down at her half empty plate then back up, like she’s made a decision. “But I do worry,” she continues. “Andrea, what positive things can you see coming from Mitt Romney? He will do nothing for gay rights. And the election is nearly on our doorstep.”

Well, _hello_. Gay rights. They’re about to talk about gay rights. A little more than twenty-four hours ago, they were _nothing_ at all. Now, as they’re sitting here at this table it truly seems like they’ve been _something_ for a long, long time. Andy wonders if Miranda feels the same way. She probably does. They’re sitting here having a quiet conversation like they’ve done it fifty times already. And it feels so natural. But back to this gay rights thing, how is she supposed to negotiate that? Is this Miranda’s way of telling Andy that she’s gay? In spite of two marriages, she’s gay? Or is Andy reading way too much into this? Who the fuck knows. The only thing there is to do is open her mouth and participate in this conversation like an adult because Miranda is _sharing_.

“You’re right. Sometimes it feels like choosing the lesser of two evils, though.”

“And that is the way it will always feel.”

“So I guess it’s safe to say you’re not giving Mitt any money?”

“Absolutely not… I feel like as much as people think human rights have improved by leaps and bounds, they haven’t. Some things have taken a step backward entirely.”

“Or we just see more now… The media.”

“And I imagine they report less than half of what is on the rise.”

Caroline chooses to burst into the kitchen then, with a printout of something she desperately wants. Miranda wraps her arms around her immediately; which Caroline tries to wiggle out of because she’s more interested in shopping than in hugging right now. Miranda does not let go. She hangs on and looks across the table at Andy and that’s when it hits her. She’s afraid.

Miranda is afraid for her children’s future. She’s afraid they won’t get to be whoever they will grow up to be. She’s afraid that political power and fanatical ideas will take the place of their freedom…and separate them from what it means to live without fear.

Caroline eventually wiggles out of Miranda’s hold and runs off, happy that she’s getting the bed she wants even though Andy can tell Miranda is not exactly thrilled with her choice. Then Miranda confirms it.

“I’m not thrilled. But I’m too tired to say otherwise. And it is her bed after all. She has to live with her choice. Not me.”

And that is Andy’s cue.

“Go take a shower or whatever,” Andy says as she gets up from the table and starts gathering the dishes. Miranda opens her mouth to say something but is halted before she can begin. “No arguments.”

But that wasn’t what Miranda was going to say at all…

“Where are you going to sleep?” She asks with both eyebrows raised.

With confidence (and, thank God, no blushing issues) Andy says, “Wherever you need me to.”

The only answer Miranda gives her is a nod; and Andy knows what that means. They’re all sharing a bed tonight. Then the best news of all comes.

“If it’s alright, we’ll stay one more night… The furniture should all be settled tomorrow, and Captain _Janeway_ will have everything put back together by Wednesday.”

The only answer Andy gives Miranda is a nod. There was never any other choice.

Miranda turns to go but comes back almost immediately. “Thank you,” she says and Andy can tell it’s not easy for her to do, but it’s heartfelt. “Thank you for listening.”

Andy can’t help but smile. “Well, I told you I would. Didn’t I?”

“Yes… You did, but it is not the easiest thing for me. To share. No one offers in a serious way, and on the rare occasion that the offer _is_ made, I have no idea how to be receptive. Unless it’s…Anna.” Miranda looks to the side and swallows hard.

For Andy, the urge to cry comes out of nowhere but that is not something she can do. Andy does not cry. _Ever_. Well, okay, in the beginning when Miranda would say something shitty, she would cry. But that’s it. Other than that, Andy doesn’t allow herself the privilege. And she definitely doesn’t cry anymore when Miranda says shitty stuff. That’s just work bullshit and Andy is much better at her job now.

When Miranda looks up, she swallows again, and then continues. “But it’s not the same as this,” she says. “Which I have never had before.” Miranda pauses again and Andy stops breathing as she steps closer and closer. So close that they are mere inches apart. “It’s important to me that you know now, that I am not very good at listening. I may not be able to offer much in that regard without many failures.”

“I don’t mind that, Miranda, because guess what… I’m not very good at sharing,” which Andy hates to admit. But it’s true. So incredibly true. On so many levels it wasn’t even close to being a joke. She would try for Miranda though. If Miranda wanted to listen, then Andy would try to say all the things she never said out loud to anyone. In fact, she would try to say all the things that she refused to even admit were true. The things that cut the deepest. “We’ll just have to work our way through it, I guess,” she says, putting a hand on Miranda’s arm, then slides it down until she reaches her hand. Like in her house on Sunday, Miranda holds Andy’s hand tightly and their fingers intertwine. “I’ll be patient if you will, Miranda.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I will too.”

And of course, before they can do anything else, Cassidy yells from the study for Miranda to come and approve yet another item before disappearing all over again. They both take a deep breath simultaneously; Andy begins to let go and pull away. Miranda stops her, pulling her closer. Their first kiss is a simple one, but so meaningful even if it is one-sided.

Miranda leans in and kisses Andy’s forehead and it is absolutely fantastic.

As Andy begins to clean the kitchen a few seconds later, she can hear Miranda force the girls away from their shopping spree and toward baths then straight to bed. Surprisingly they argue for precisely five minutes and that’s it. They’re clearly worn out and Miranda wins without a meltdown occurring.

She doesn’t get to see Miranda in that silk sleep shirt again, which is probably a good thing. By the time Andy gets done with her own shower, Miranda is in the bed too. The twins are passed out cold but Miranda is clearly awake, staring at the ceiling.

Without a word, she slips into bed and turns out the light after setting her alarm.

In the darkness, before Andy is even comfortable, Miranda whispers, “I miss my mother.”

Andy will not, will _not_ cry. That is an impossible thing… But she does muster up the courage to admit to something, even if Miranda thinks it’s silly. “I miss her too,” she says. “I never met her, so I really don’t have a right to. But I do…”

“You have every right, Andrea.” Miranda reaches across Caroline, who is snoring softly and Cassidy who is sleeping like a log. Andy reaches out too and their fingers are intertwined again. “You came to me in cerulean blue sweater… You have every right to miss my mother.” 

With a smile on her face from the memory, Andy falls asleep minutes later. Tonight she is granted true peace. There are no dreams.

There is only safety and an incredible sense of belonging.

 

 TO BE CONTINUED 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

What wakes Andy up is not her alarm, or landing on the floor as a consequence of kissing Miranda in a dream. What wakes her is the sound of Lucky Charms being poured into a bowl. It’s pathetic; there’s no doubt about that, but that’s just how it is. She was deprived of it yesterday and she’ll be damned if that happens twice. According to Zeb, there should be _three_ boxes in her apartment so it’s an automatic that Andy’s guaranteed a bowl. Maybe two. Or maybe not.

Miranda is still there… asleep in her bed, and there isn’t a child in sight. With that in mind, Andy is fully prepared to be deprived of Lucky Charms this morning. Who needs breakfast, anyway? In fact, what is breakfast?

Unable to resist, Andy reaches over and lightly runs a finger down the side of Miranda’s face. She has to pull away quickly though, as Miranda turns her head into the pillows to avoid it. Apparently, she is a light sleeper. Just to test the theory (still unable to help herself), Andy does it again.

There is more movement, but it’s not to turn further away. Instead of that, Miranda rolls forward which means she’s laying right up against Andy now. Her lips are just inches away from Andy’s cheek and two seconds later, Miranda’s arm is resting across her stomach. Andy cannot breathe when she feels Miranda’s bare legs against her own. She’s dressed in boxers and Hogwarts t-shirt just like Sunday night and surprisingly, Miranda never made a remark about it. But what Andy is wearing does _not_ matter. Miranda, laying so close, is what matters.  

Looking quickly toward the door, Andy can see that it is wide open and she can clearly hear Caroline and Cassidy eating all her cereal. They’ll be high all day on sugar but who the fuck cares? Let their teacher deal with it.

Finally Andy has to take a breath but she takes great care to do it slowly and evenly so Miranda doesn’t notice. If only her heart could do the same. It feels as if it’s about to beat right out of her chest. She should move, she knows that, but can’t. But what if the girls see? That really should _not_ happen. Seriously should not…

“Andrea…”

Andy nearly jumps ten feet in the air as Miranda speaks her name, obviously awake now. She begins to try and move, but Miranda doesn’t allow it, scooting in closer.

“Stop worrying,” she whispers. “They’re heads are stuck in boxes of cereal and I can guarantee you they’re not in _any_ hurry to get dressed for school. Unless one of us goes in there, they’re not about to do anything but eat and possibly find out how many channels your enormous television has.”

If Miranda is okay with this, then Andy isn’t about to argue. Her only reply is to maneuver her arm around until it’s underneath Miranda’s head, and everything is comfortable again. There is nothing wrong anywhere. There is nothing evil waiting for them around the corner.

If only they could stay this way forever.

That thought makes Andy wonder how fast is too fast and suddenly, things aren’t quite so perfect after all. How much is too much, too soon? Yesterday, in Miranda’s office, she felt like everything jumped ten levels ahead somehow. And God only knows what will happen today. Will they jump ten levels ahead again? And if they do, will that hurt them in the long run? Will making decisions…commitments _now_ , hurt them? Because Andy has already made her decision, her _commitment_ , and that will not change.  

“Do you want me to move,” Miranda says out of nowhere.

That is the last thing Andy wants. “What? _No_. Please don’t…” She says, and in her panic, she wraps her other arm around Miranda and pulls tightly. Probably too tightly, but she can’t help it. She needs this to last as long as possible this morning. All these questions have scared her. What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? Where is all this coming from?

In spite of being held so tightly, Miranda is at least able to raise her head. With concern plainly written all over her face, Andy starts to feel like an idiot. But apparently, Miranda doesn’t think she’s an idiot at all.

“You look terrified. What’s the matter?” Miranda asks. “You are worried something will go wrong? Yet, you’ve been telling _me_ that everything will be fine?”

Andy swallows hard, realizing she ought to believe what she’s been preaching. They will be alright.

She ran down the street in the middle of the night to get to Miranda, and then climbed into bed with her and her children when the nightmares came.

Miranda found it necessary to go to a party because Andy just couldn’t, and then marched into a grocery store a few days later to buy all the Lucky Charms on the shelf.

Yes, they will be alright.

With renewed faith and a smile, Andy says, “I’m sorry. We will be. We _will_. Just don’t call my apartment a Man Cave again.”

Giving a frustrated sigh, Miranda lays her head back down on Andy’s shoulder and refuses to make such promises where Man Caves are concerned. Andy has the distinct feeling that she will just have to put up with it. That also means she’s buying Cassidy a television for her bathroom. Miranda will just have to put up with it.

“I don’t know what to tell the girls,” Miranda says as Andy’s just started to make a list in her head of which kinds of televisions Cassidy might like might for her bathroom. “Or when.”

Not that she had any idea what they would ever talk about in bed alone, but this isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. And what is she supposed to say? Before she can come up with even one word, Andy’s brain starts to overload itself again. What if the girls don’t like her? What if they don’t understand or what them to be together? What if…

“You’re doing it again.”

“What? Doing what?”

“Worrying. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No.” Andy shakes her head and nearly kisses Miranda in the process. “Don’t apologize. It’s just that… I don’t know what to say.”

“Which is shocking,” Miranda snorts.

So she can be funny in the morning? _Wow_.

“In spite of the fact that so much is going on,” Miranda says, picking up the conversation. “And this would be a complete break from my usual policy with them, of course, but I’m considering not saying a word.”

“Huh?”

“I mean until they say something. _If_ they say something.”

Andy couldn’t be more confused. Does Miranda not want them to know? Or what?

Miranda apparently senses that Andy is still as dumb as a rock and tries again. “I don’t want this to seem any different than…other…”

“Relationships. Your other relationships?”

“Correct. Because it isn’t…”

Miranda falters there and everything changes. She rolls away from Andy, leaving her no choice to follow, which by Miranda’s sudden stiff posture isn’t what she wants. But Andy doesn’t give in. Pressing herself into Miranda’s back, Andy slides an arm around her and waits, knowing that Miranda is just frustrated by her lack of ability to explain. Andy knows that Miranda _knows_ this is different. What they’re building is different. Miranda’s just got to find the right words, and that’s hardly her favorite thing in the world to do.

After a minute or two, Andy breathes a sigh as relief as Miranda relaxes into her.  But she doesn’t turn around, though, and that is fine. Andy knows all about how it’s sometimes easier to explain without looking.

“I didn’t mean that this _isn’t_ different. This is very different.”

“Miranda, I know that.” Andy presses her face into Miranda’s neck and marvels at how different her very own shampoo and body wash can smell on someone else. It’s intoxicating but there are (which sucks) more important things going on right now.

“I’d rather not have a big production made out of explaining things. As we’ve seen with Cara, they’re well aware of…certain things. And I know them, Andrea. Making a big speech about being involved with a woman… They’ll roll their eyes and tell me, ‘ _Duh, Mom_ ’ and run off to whatever I’d have interrupted them from.”

“So you’d be comfortable with them coming to their own conclusions?”

“I am,” Miranda takes a deep breath then pulls Andy even closer against her back. “And I know they’ll be able to tell…that this is different. Besides in the obvious.”

The _obvious_ … Before Andy can put an invisible hand over her stupid mouth, she asks, “But you’ve dated women before.”

Miranda turns her head halfway and Andy almost kisses her in the process, even if she looks annoyed.

“Cara should be shot,” Miranda growls. “That was nearly _four_ years ago and only _two_ dates with _one_ woman. Two very boring dates. The girls never knew, and I’ve got Leslie to thank for the time wasted. She should be shot, too. For setting it up.”

Oh… So that means it’s a pretty certain deal that Miranda never kissed this incredibly lucky but _boring_ woman. And it also means Miranda never had sex with her either. Not that those things matter. Not really. And Andy’s in the same boat. She never even thought about another woman in that way before Miranda.

Even with this information, Andy’s still not done being stupid this morning. “So how… How is this different?”

Without hesitation, but at a whisper, Miranda answers, “Because I want this. I really want this, Andrea. There are so many reasons why labeling it a failure _now_ would _not_ be premature at all. But I really want this…”

Instead of saying anything else stupid, Andy simply presses her face into Miranda’s neck again and smiles. Thankfully, Miranda gets all the information she might need from this gesture and they remain like this, pressed together tightly, deep under the covers, until Andy’s alarm goes off a little while later.

Immediately, they hear both the girls grumble about how they’re about to have to get ready for school and how much that sucks. Miranda climbs out of bed (Andy has to force herself to let go) and taking advantage of the moment, she stays right there and watches Miranda walk toward the bathroom in that silk night shirt that barely reaches her knees.

She’s never been so glad to be awake in her life.

Miraculously, there are Lucky Charms left. Andy puts coffee on to brew and scarfs down two bowls while Miranda gets ready and prods the girls along. There is a serious debate on the choice of hair styles with Cassidy. Caroline wants nothing more than to throw her hair up into a pony tail (which makes Andy sick with jealousy), but Cassidy wants a French braid that she cannot do alone. Andy hears Miranda say there isn’t time, and then a revelation is made.

“You always say that,” Cassidy says, disappointed. “But then again, you’re almost never home when we go to school. _Cara_ would do it, though.”

While Andy cannot see Miranda’s face (they’re in the bathroom and she is hurriedly washing dishes), there is one beat too many of silence. And then more silence. Caroline doesn’t even say anything.

As much as she hates to admit it, Cassidy is right. Miranda is all too often at work by the time the twins are getting dressed for school. She is almost never there. While she moves heaven and earth to attend recitals and school functions, Miranda is rarely there for the simple things.

Maybe that’s what all the new video conference equipment is about? Miranda told Henley she was making plans to be home more. But why? Andy can think of only one reason. Her children are the only reason she would make such a move. It would never be for the fact that Miranda is sometimes tired of the office itself. It was all about Caroline and Cassidy. It was all about being around for more of the simple things.

There is still nothing but silence coming from the bathroom. Andy hates to do it but she’s got to walk passed the open door to get to her bedroom to change. When she walks by, Cassidy is well on her way to having a French braid and Miranda is doing her best to look happy. Andy can see the sadness in her eyes even if they’re not directly looking at one another. She knows Miranda. She knows that Miranda is hurt and just as yesterday, she declines breakfast, hardly in the mood for it now.

Darren arrives like clockwork to take everyone to school and work. They all ride together today and the SUV is filled with the girls’ constant chatter. As soon as they make their exit, though, Darren turns the radio on and once again stares straight ahead. And once again, Andy moves across the seat; it’s just like a bus ride in junior high until they enter the parking garage.

“This is becoming a dangerous habit,” Miranda says as she helps Andy out of the SUV.

“What? You don’t like holding my hand?” She asks jokingly. “It’s like being in junior high all over again. What’s not to like?”

At this, Miranda looks stunned, which is not what Andy expected. She expected Miranda to have something smart and bitchy to say.

“I am far older than you.” Miranda states this like it’s the first time that fact has occurred to her. And maybe it is.

As they walk toward the elevator, Andy throws caution to the wind. “I thought about that too. Yesterday morning, in fact. Right there, holding your hand on the way to work, I thought about it and you know what?”

“What?” Miranda manages to say the word even though Andy can see she is holding her breath.

“I decided that if I’m ever lucky enough to get you into the back of a school bus, we’re making out. Big time.”

“Well…” Miranda inhales sharply and even out of the corner of her eye, Andy can see her cheeks turn red. “Well,” Miranda tries again. “I…that would be…certainly be a new experience.”

“For me too.” Andy leans against the wall as the elevator makes its climb, simply enjoying the flustered look on Miranda’s face. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep my eyes open for one. There’s bound to be an empty school bus around at some point. We live on hope, don’t we?”

“Yes. Yes, we do,” Miranda replies, then surprises Andy by playing along. “I suppose I’ll keep a watch out for one as well. You never know. We might get lucky.”

And here we go. More blushing for good ol’ Andy, who can’t even voice a response before the elevator doors open.

Emily is standing there waiting. The first thing she does is give Andy her customary dirty look, but this time there is also an amount of questioning behind it that instantly worries her. Emily is not stupid. She’s spastic and annoying as hell, but not stupid. Then again, she’s always making snide comments about how Andy is Miranda’s favorite so this will probably just add fuel to the fire. Hopefully, Emily will keep thinking along _those_ lines and grow bitchier with resentment. _That_ , Andy can handle. Emily suspecting that there is more to it is _not_ something she can handle.

The day officially begins once Miranda has coffee in her hands and they get enough work handed down to them to do in two lifetimes. But of course, Andy’s is all that and more. At least, this time, when she looks at her list, Andy doesn’t feel like demanding a raise because if it wasn’t for this rat race of a job, she would have never met Miranda.

Miranda has more appointments to deal with today on top of Runway business. Insurance people, Leslie, her decorator and then, her divorce attorney, accompanied by her _regular_ lawyer shows up. This definitely isn’t on the schedule; Andy wonders what Miranda is up to and is admittedly a little worried. The last thing Miranda needs right now is more of Stephen’s shit to deal with. Greg is bad enough without added issues.

Yet, she cannot ask Miranda what is going on. It’s not as if they can do that here, be whatever they are becoming and still do all this work. Well, there was yesterday’s little _thing_ , but this is not yesterday. This is today and Andy is determined that it will be one of less stress. Or not exactly stress. Less _drama_. If for her sake alone, Andy needs this day to be less dramatic. Especially since tonight is her last night to have them all under her roof. In order to have it go as she plans, today needs to be as easy a day as can ever be had at Runway.

She does keep an eye on Miranda though (which is nothing because she always does that) and makes an additional coffee run on top of the two she’s been told to make. Andy’s always been able to tell when another cup of coffee would go a long way in quieting the internal monologue that sometimes starts to drive Miranda crazy.

Andy completes half a million other tasks and before she knows it, it’s time to pick up Miranda’s lunch.  

Right before she heads out the door, this is when she learns that Miranda has been keeping a close eye on her too. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to Andy, but it does anyway. The text she receives before walking out the door, simply reads: _Don’t forget to eat lunch._

Mind you, Miranda is sitting right there in her office but she is surrounded by people; a last-minute run-through. This text stops Andy in her tracks for a moment. She’s busy. Miranda is incredibly busy. Even as she stands there, Andy can hear her bitching about some skirt she’s already told everybody she _never_ wants to see _ever_ again. It was necessary, though. Miranda found it _necessary_ to pick up her cellphone in the middle of a very important meeting, to text Andy.

As she finally walks out the door, the smile on her face could not be brighter.

Yes, today will be a good one. It has been so far and Andy will see that nothing changes that. Then, she will go home to what will no doubt be more perfection (even if Cassidy is having a meltdown of some kind). They will have dinner, watch a Harry Potter movie…and yes, it will be perfection.

She’s sure of it.

 

TO BE CONTINUED 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Since Andy has decided that today will go perfectly, and has also been reminded to eat lunch, she rewards herself by having another one of those greasy, disgusting looking hotdogs that tastes like heaven. This is probably not what Miranda had in mind when she reminded Andy to eat but, she’s not around object, so Andy is determined to take advantage of the moment.

By the time Andy reaches Smith and Wollensky’s it’s packed, but they have her order ready and waiting. See? Perfect day.

She’s not out the door five minutes though when it becomes _perfectly_ clear that she should just give up on having hotdogs because that is obviously the call for Dementors to show up. And this time they don’t follow on the heels of Christian Thompson. They come in the form of a phone call from Emily that will set the day on a disastrous collision course with something Miranda made mention of yesterday , but Andy never believed possible. In fact, forget the Dementors because this is like Darth Vader just blew up the planet Alderaan right in front of her.

At first, when Andy is finally able to answer her cell phone (after juggling the lunch and her handbag that weighs a ton today), she can’t even understand Emily.

“Emily, Jesus Christ… Calm down! I can’t understand you.”

In one word, Emily sets everything in motion.

“Greg!” She screeches into the phone and Andy’s heart stops beating.

He’s there. Miranda wasn’t kidding. He’s there to fight it out, to cause a scene, to fuck with her head. He’s there. And Andy isn’t. She isn’t there to take care of Miranda.

“Miranda won’t let me call security, Andrea! She’s livid…you know…in her own way, but won’t let me call fucking security! She threatened to fire me! And he’s just getting louder in there…”

Instantly, Andy doesn’t give a goddamn what Miranda wants or doesn’t want Emily to do. “I don’t care, Emily!” Andy yells into the phone as she gives Miranda’s lunch away to one of the millions of people she passes everyday on the sidewalk that has no home or job. At least somebody will benefit from this day. Because Andy sure isn’t, Emily isn’t either and there’s no way Miranda will want to eat after this anyway. “Just call them, Emily. I’ll take care of the rest.” Andy darts across traffic; it’s only a miracle that keeps her from getting hit by a cab. “Just trust me; I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Emily scoffs but Andy reads right through it. Emily’s scared. Emily Charlton is scared out of her fucking mind.

“I will! Just do it, Emily. And call Nigel. Get him as fast as you can. Trust me. I’ll fix this.”

And that’s that. Andy ends the call, refusing to think about how she sounds like Anna, promising to take care of shit then totally failing. She can’t fail at this. But Emily’s telling the truth. If Miranda is in this mood and freaking out about security and fighting with Greg…she will fire Emily. And that can’t happen. Not over this. Andy hates to even share the same air with the girl, but Emily cannot be fired because of this. That would just be too wrong.

Running in heels with more grace than she could ever imagine being blessed with, Andy calls the one person she knows that can not only keep Emily from getting fired, but that can probably get rid of Greg even better than security can. Irv Ravitz.

Andy’s not sure if this is his regular phone habit or if she’s just lucky, but he answers on the first ring.

“And just what can I do for you, Ms. Sachs?” Irv sounds more pissed off right now than she’s ever heard him. Obviously, this is a bad time to call, but he’ll just have to get over it. “I can tell you that I’m not in the mood for drama. I’ve just seen one of the _worst_ covers for Auto Universe in my _life_ and--“

There’s no time to listen to what Irv is or isn’t in the mood for, even though Andy would like to tell him that _every_ cover of Auto Universe is trashy. Women who basically look like hookers, draped over an automobile does _not_ a good cover make. But when in the hell did Irv become so interested in the inner workings of Auto Universe? Or has he always been? Who the fuck knows…

“Irv, I need your help,” Andy says breathlessly. She’s three blocks away and cannot afford to slow down. “Greg’s in Miranda’s office. She won’t let Emily call security. I’m on my way but… Irv, she’ll fire Emily if she calls security anyway, and you know it. I need your help.”

“She’s not firing anybody!” Irv bellows into the phone which takes Andy back a bit. She expected him to get pissed off, but not like that. “And I tell you what else!” He seems content to yell and Andy hears a door slam. “That bastard is _never_ getting into this building again!”

“I agree… That sounds great Irv, just please get up there.”

“I am! I am!” He says, breathing heavily into the phone. “I’m taking the stairs because every damned person in the world seems to be in the elevator. Do you know why they got divorced?” Irv asks, and no, Andy doesn’t know. That’s one thing Nigel’s Rumor Mill has not informed her of. Not that she’s ever asked, but still, she has no clue.

While she crosses another street and begins to run down the sidewalk again, Irv tells her what no one else has.

“He cheated on her!” Irv yells and Andy can hear another door slamming. “In her office! With some slut in accessories! In Miranda’s _office_. Had her over the desk and everything!”

Okay, now Andy’s seriously regretting that hotdog. She doesn’t know whether to get really angry or be really sick; there are so many reasons to be both those things at once. He cheated on Miranda? Andy can’t even imagine why anyone would do that… And in her _office_? With someone from accessories… Christ.

“She caught him. Came back early from a meeting. They were supposed to go to lunch but _instead_ —he was fucking some girl! I thought the entire building was going to come down on our heads before that was over! And I’ll tell you what else,” Irv takes in a deep breath and Andy hears another door slam. He’s got to be close by now. Please let him be close… “I’m an asshole to my wife on a regular basis. Just ask her. But I’m not stupid. He’s a disgrace. You don’t cheat on your wife. You just don’t. Oh, _hell_. I’m here.”

Then there is nothing. The line is dead.

“Fuck!” Andy whispers under her breath as she sprints through the lobby, totally ignoring all the weird looks she’s getting. Honestly, people should be used to Miranda’s assistants running through the lobby. It’s a common occurrence. It’s just never been for something this serious. Something this personal.

When a bunch of clackers try to get into the elevator with her, Andy gives them all a look like no other, full of hate, full of ‘I fucking dare you to try’. They don’t try and she makes the ride alone. The seconds it takes to get to Miranda, gives Andy time to realize she’s not quite alone as usual. There is Emily, Nigel…and Irv. She might not have any potions, a wand, or a lightsaber but she’s got help no matter what. At least today. The only thing she _doesn’t_ have, is Anna.

Exiting the elevator, Andy can clearly hear a commotion going on and her chest tightens to the point of pain.

When she rounds the corner, Emily is literally stapled to her desk chair. Nigel and Irv are busy telling Greg just _where_ he can go and _how_. Security is there too, hands on Greg, who is much taller and bigger than Andy ever pictured in her head. As they try to drag him away, he continues to spew words that are doing unimaginable damage.

Miranda is an unfit mother. She cannot keep her children safe. Caroline and Cassidy would be better off with Greg and he will fight harder than ever to get them now. The court battle isn’t over yet. It’s just begun. According to him anyway. And Miranda is quietly listening to every single bit of this. Like she deserves it.

Security finally manages to get him out of there and Miranda’s face is blank when she crosses the threshold of her office to tell Emily that she is fired.

“No,” Irv says flatly, taking his suit jacket off, throwing it on Andy’s desk like he is ready for a prizefight. Nigel stands between them because God is the only one who knows what’s about to happen. Andy can barely stand upright from the pain her chest.

“I said she’s fired.” Miranda’s voice is low, calm and scary as hell. And that’s the truth…whenever Miranda’s voice is at its lowest, that’s when she’s at her most lethal. When her voice is like this, she’s libel to hurt them all. Even Andy.

“She isn’t!” Irv raises his voice. “Even though you spend money like it’s water in the process, you hire and fire at will because I know you know what’s best…even though it kills me to admit it. But not this time. You’re pissed! That’s the only reason. And it’s not good enough. Not this time, Miranda. It’s just not good enough. Emily was only doing the right thing and you know it.”

“She disobeyed a direct order.” Miranda’s voice is still at its lowest and most dangerous. Andy catches a glimpse of Emily and there are tears forming.

And there’s the line. For as much as Andy hates Emily, _there_ is the line and she will not allow Miranda to cross it without a fight. Not over something like this.

“I told her to do it, Miranda,” Andy says. “I told Emily to call security. I told Emily to get Nigel…and I called Irv.”

Irv turns to her and gives her the weirdest look. It’s like he didn’t expect that little fact to come out. Maybe he thought the phone call could just go unspoken of. But it can’t. That would have never worked and for a split second, Andy wonders if he will stick up for her too. Will Irv stop Miranda from firing her? Because that’s probably about to happen.

It isn’t though. That isn’t what happens at all, and _this_ is when Andy realizes just how far Greg has gotten under Miranda’s skin because she does _nothing_. Miranda simply goes back into her office and closes the door.

Out of all of them, Nigel is the first one to speak.

“What in the _hell_ just happened?” He asks more to himself than to anyone else.

Irv wipes a hand across his forehead and loosens his tie. “I have no idea. But what I do know is that’s _not_ her.” He flings a hand toward Miranda’s closed door then goes for his jacket. “And I’d rather have the _bitch_ back than witness that again. That’s what I know…”

“I’d like to know how he got up here,” Nigel says, still staring at Miranda’s door.

“It doesn’t matter.” Irv pulls his jacket on roughly. “Someone in security is about to lose their job. So it doesn’t matter… And I’ve got to go back downstairs to sort out this _mess_ with Auto Universe… A disaster. _Whores_ on the cover, I swear.”

In a few seconds, Andy will blame this on being in shock, because instead of keeping her mouth shut, she says, “Irv, there’s always a _whore_ on the cover of Auto Universe. Always.”

He looks at her clearly stunned. “Yeah? Then come with me. Maybe you can convince Kevin a magazine can sell without that _crap_. It’s not like you need to be here right now. Miranda might toss you out a window.”

Nigel starts coughing; Andy blames her mouth’s idiocy on shock and Emily lets out the loudest breath ever…and that’s that. Andy heads toward the elevator  with Irv to do whatever he says. After all, she owes him. What in the hell she can really do with this _issue_ , Andy doesn’t know, but she owes him so if he wants her to lecture Kevin on why there doesn’t need to be a whore on the cover of Auto Universe, then _fine_.  Besides, this will take her mind off what in the hell this will mean for her and Miranda’s relationship. Will Miranda still want this, the thing she claimed to want so badly this morning? Will Miranda still want Andy?

There’s no answer so Andy (with a chest still tight with pain) has little choice but to shut that part of her brain off.

Kevin is an idiot. That’s clear right away. He’s young, cocky and…well, he’s stupid. While Andy might not have ever heard of Runway before coming to New York, she did know a thing or two about Auto Universe for various reasons and yeah, this boy is stupid. All the class is gone from what used to be a magazine about new trends in high-end vehicles, vintage cars being resurrected from the dead and new concepts that would one day stun the showroom floor. Now (besides whores on the cover) it’s a magazine full of jacked up jeeps, trucks and redneck creations that resemble something born from a junkyard. And the ads. Jesus Christ it’s _full_ of crappy looking ads for after-market parts and gadgets that aren’t worth a damn. Yes, all the class and sophistication has disappeared.

Andy tries to say this in a nice way, but Irv finally gives her a look that conveys, “Stop with the bullshit.” So she stops the bullshit and lays her opinion out. His only response is to rub his forehead and loosen his tie some more. Kevin’s only response is to look at her like she is the biggest dumbass on the planet. Then the real blow comes.

Irv asks her officially, “What about the cover?”

“Well,” Andy swallows hard as she can feel Kevin’s hatred for her silently grow. “The girl shouldn’t be there… Ten other magazines with _that_ on the cover exist already.”

“And what else?” Irv eyes her closely.

Andy starts to fidget, kind of regretting coming down here. What in the hell does she know about this stuff?

Actually, she knows quite a bit so with a deep breath, Andy throws caution to the wind for the second time today and just goes for it.

“It’s just the whole thing…could be better, you know. I was…uh…The last time I was in Las Vegas with my mother we went to a car show. The…It seems like the whole ‘green’ thing is catching on. Lithium Ion. Hybrid… In 2010, probably, if they can pull it off, Chevy is coming out with something pretty cool… Well, here.”

Finally Andy shuts her mouth (or not really) and thumbs through her phone until she finds the right pictures. Skipping the ones where her goofy mom is practically drooling over all the different cars, Andy shows Irv the Volt and totally ignores the two text messages she receives from Miranda in the middle of her speech.

“See,” she points to the Volt and Irv puts on his glasses. “It reminds me of a newer Camaro that’s coming out. I mean it’s definitely shorter, but the wheelbase, the back end…the lines. And it’s roomy. I sat in it… I doubt this one will be what they mass-produce, though. They didn’t even have an estimated price, but you can tell it’s _not_ cheap. The point is, just because you can literally plug the car into a wall socket, doesn’t mean it can’t look good. This is pure innovation…the future.”

Irv makes a noise that Andy hopes is approval rather than something that means she’s the one that’s stupid. And, yes, it’s one of approval.

“So this ‘green’ thing is catching, you say?”

“It will be. Like I said, it’s the future. This is something that should be showcased. Not a bunch of stuff everybody else is doing.”

Okay, she’s got to shut up. Kevin looks like he wants to throttle her and Irv looks like he wants to throttle Kevin. Neither would be a good thing.

Her cellphone vibrates quietly in her hand again and she knows it’s Miranda _again_. Who else would it be?

“Well, Kevin,” Irv says sternly, “See about this. And clean up that cover. It’s too late to change it much, but if you can find a shot _without_ the girl draped over the top, you’ll get to keep your job longer.”

They leave after that. Irv wants to hear more about Andy’s car show adventures (and boy are there a lot of them to tell) but knows she’s got to get back upstairs and face the music. Promising to forward him some pictures from her phone, they part ways and Andy makes the trip in the elevator alone. And of course, she can’t help but look at her phone on the way. Miranda’s first text is: _Greg is right. I cannot protect them. I cannot protect my children._  

Greg isn’t _right_. He’s a fucking moron! But how will Andy ever convince Miranda of that? Tears over this question are just below the surface but true to form, Andy does not allow them the freedom they wish for. She will not cry.

The second text basically repeats the first, all about how Miranda is an unfit parent and never there for her daughters.

The third one though…is much worse. It reads: _Please, don’t be angry with me. I hope you managed to have lunch before all this. I’m sorry about everything._

Well… Andy has to take a deep breath and actually prays for the elevator to slow down because this isn’t just Greg fucking with Miranda’s head. _Please, don’t be angry with me…_ Miranda doesn’t want Andy to be angry with _her_? For what? God, this is just straight up emotional abuse. She’s apologizing. And for more than just trying to fire Emily. That was a self-defense move; Andy knows that, and Emily probably does too. She’s apologizing to Andy because she thinks all that shit is true. Miranda thinks everything Greg says about her is true. Like _really_ true.

Just how fucking long has Greg been verbally beating Miranda down like this? Just how much of Miranda has been pushed into the ground and covered over by ugly, hurtful words that keep piling on until she probably can’t even breathe fresh air anymore?

And maybe…maybe, deep down, Miranda thinks that Andy agrees with Greg. In spite of Andy’s few attempts to tell Miranda that she _is_ a good mother…what if Miranda doesn’t think Andy believes that at all?

“God, help me,” Andy says to the roof of the elevator cabin just as the doors open. God is probably not in the elevator but He’s got to be somewhere, right?

When Andy gets back to the office, Emily doesn’t look at her at all and Miranda’s door is open now. She is there at her desk, flipping through paperwork like everything is okay, like she is Miranda Priestly and not the least bit small or fragile. There is one difference though. Normally, Miranda’s cell phone is tossed wherever, but now it is within a hand’s reach, and she keeps looking at it in between glances at the paperwork in front of her.

She is waiting for Andy to text her back.

Andy doesn’t text her back. There is too much to say. She sends an email instead and still, it doesn’t say half of what she wants it to. All Andy can tell Miranda right now is that she could not and would not ever be mad over something neither of them could control and that they’re all going to be together tonight, having a huge dinner then watching a movie on the couch.

Fifteen seconds after Andy sends it, Miranda replies. She wants for nothing more than her children, a huge dinner, _not_ a movie because BBC is having a Next Generation marathon tonight…and Andy, right beside her.

Even though there is obviously an untold amount of work to be done to dig Miranda out of this enormous pit Greg has pushed her into, Andy is ready for the task.

Whatever has to be done, will be done, and she isn’t afraid.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Sorry this chapter took so long for me to pass out. Work has been less than kind to me this week and finding time to wrestle with LJ, FFnet and AO3 was not at the top of my priority list. As always – I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for sticking with me. Your comments and emails mean everything.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Some interesting things happen once Andy gets back to her desk.

The first is a text from Anna.

  _How is Miranda?_

How is Miranda? Not _Miriam_ , but Miranda. Well, _Miranda_ , judging from the flurry of activity going on in her office (Jocelyn is getting her ass handed to her once again) everything with her is just fine. That being the case—Andy tells Anna that very thing.

Then the real question comes. Andy should have known better.

  _And how is Miriam?_

Shit. As horrible of an idea as this is, Andy wants to tell Anna the truth. She wants to tell her Greg has made an appearance and _Miriam_ is a freakin’ wreck. Then again, she wouldn’t have to get into that much detail because Anna would probably guess the end result. Andy gives into her desire to spill the beans a few seconds later and simply says: _Greg was here earlier._

Anna never sends a reply.

The second interesting thing comes from Emily, who has finally decided to look at her. Words of gratitude come out of Emily’s mouth that stuns Andy. In fact, her feet go a little numb. Miracles _are_ possible. Either that or this is a joke and Emily will go back to being a total bitch ten minutes from now.

Whatever happens, Andy decides to accept what she’s hearing and returns the gesture because let’s face it, if Emily hadn’t done as Andy told her, things could have been much worse.  

Just like Irv and his weird (but possibly temporary) transformation into a nice guy, maybe there is hope for her and Emily. Maybe they can become friends. Maybe Azkaban will turn into a ski resort. Maybe Darth Vader will get a job running Honeydukes and Han Solo becomes the next Headmaster of Hogwarts… Maybe Andy should get back to work.

Or, perhaps not. Just like yesterday, right around three o’clock Miranda marches back in from a meeting, says something about picking up the girls and going home—and then she’s gone. But her departure brings on the third interesting thing to happen since lunch. Miranda sends a text. She wants Andy to go home. Right now. At three o’clock.

How in the hell is she supposed to do that? How is she supposed to justify leaving to Emily? Yeah, they’ve had their nice, warm and fuzzy moment, but that won’t mean a thing when Andy tells Emily she’s leaving early for the second time in a row.

Her delay in texting Miranda back must be the tipoff that Andy can’t figure out what in the heck to do. A minute later, Miranda texts her again.

_Tell Emily you’ve got to pick up a few things from the decorator to bring to the townhouse. We’ll be at your apartment around five with dinner. No arguments. Go home._

As Andy leaves (ignoring the look on Emily’s face), it occurs to her that this whole ‘no arguments’ thing will probably become a regular phrase she and Miranda pass back and forth time and time again.

The subway is crowded and the ride seems to take forever, but when she walks through the door of her apartment, Andy can finally be thankful for this time Miranda has given her. There is so much to do.

After changing into jeans and one of her mother’s old-as-hell NYU t-shirts, Andy turns on the television in the living room to check the schedule. There’s a Next Generation marathon going on tonight for sure. In fact, it’s already happening.

Not wanting Miranda to miss anything, Andy sets the DVR to record them all. Yes, all of them—and not just tonight’s marathon. From now on, there will be a permanent timer set to record Miranda’s show. You never know, it might come in handy one day.

Once that mission is accomplished, Andy gets down to the business of cleaning. The kitchen isn’t so bad. It only takes a few minutes to put back together but the bedroom and bathroom are a different story. Making the bed has been the last thing on anyone’s mind so there’s that to do, and just about every towel Andy owns is dirty. Really, that’s not a surprise and neither is the state of the bathroom. Apparently four _girls_ can wreak havoc when it comes to such things. Hair brushes, hair products, Miranda’s make-up, Andy’s make-up, the girls dirty clothes…that silk sleep shirt of Miranda’s…everything is everywhere.

Naturally, cleaning all this up and starting a load of laundry actually takes less time than Andy expects, meaning there’s nothing else to do but dust the living room (even though it doesn’t need it) and vacuum. This will definitely use up time and give her something else to focus on besides the urgent feeling that is consuming her. She can’t wait to see Miranda again and is positive she won’t be able to help herself this time. Regardless of being under the watchful eyes of Caroline and Cassidy, she is going to hug Miranda. After what they’ve been through today, Andy is going to hug Miranda.

True to form, she becomes entirely focused on dusting. She’s _got_ to be focused. Too much money has been spent on all these collectables and framed wall art to screw around. Picking up each hand-painted figure and piece of memorabilia with great care, Andy makes her way around the living room. Then there is the television itself that needs attention. It must be cleaned with something special; God forbid she put anything on it that does harm. Death would be preferable.

The bookshelves are taken care of quickly and there’s one last thing to wipe down; all the picture frames that are mixed in with everything else. Pictures of her mother, her father, her grandparents. Everybody she hardly sees anymore.

Something changes inside Andy as she picks up the picture of her mother that is by the couch. It’s from when they were running the roads together, touring colleges. Honestly, it was more like touring libraries and quite a few landmarks that had absolutely _nothing_ to do with Andy’s future choice in schools. Overall, those two weeks turned out to be one hell of a vacation and incredibly meaningful. And this picture… Well, it captures so many things words cannot express and makes Andy want to pick up the phone. She desperately wants to pick up the phone and be reassured of something…

That alone tells Andy all this talk of Miranda being a horrible mother has apparently gotten under Andy’s skin more than she realized. Too far under, and that’s not good. Time for focusing on anything else but Miranda just isn’t in the cards though. She will call her mother when things are a bit more stable. But is there such a thing as _stable_? Yes. Yes, there is.

A large part of Andy’s life is living proof that the word _stable_ is within reach. Sometimes it’s just slow in arriving.

She is standing on the couch in her socks, dusting the posters she forgot to take care of earlier when there is a knock at the door. It’s Miranda and girls. Their hands are probably full of backpacks and food, hence the knock. She almost trips twice trying to get to the door fast enough.

But it is not Miranda.

It is not Caroline.

It is not Cassidy.

It is Nate Cooper. Right here. In the doorway of her apartment. Nate Cooper, followed by an entire legion of Dementors, is right here.

And this is not like last Friday on the street with Christian. At least then she could talk a little. Even though she felt like her soul was being sucked away, she could form words. But now all she can do is stare. He’s standing in front of her, telling her how much he’s missed her and how he found out where she lives from Lily. How in the fuck Lily knows where she lives, Andy has no clue. She was never supposed to find out. But, somehow, Lily knows…

Her mind blanks out for a second but Nate gets her attention back and it feels like her soul doesn’t have much time left at all. What is wrong with her? Up until this moment Andy’s been so tough about this whole thing with Nate. She’s been strong and confident and bitchy as hell to him on the phone. Like _really_ bitchy. And mean. She’s been so mean to him, but here he is in front of Andy and what the hell…she’s scared. Why is she _scared_ of Nate?

His hand reaches out and touches her on the shoulder. He’s been asking if he can come in for the past few seconds. Andy still hasn’t acknowledged him. She probably hasn’t even been blinking. Or breathing. But now his hand is on her shoulder…and she realizes why she’s scared.

It’s a no-brainer that Andy doesn’t want him here, much less in her life _period_ …but Nate wants to come inside. Nate wants to invade her space. Nate wants, wants and wants. And the look in his eyes clearly states that he’s not going to take _no_ for answer. He wants to come in. He thinks he has a _right_ to come inside her life again. He thinks he has the _right_ to touch her and that scares her.

And she can’t move. Why can’t she move?

Andy’s heart starts to really pound when his words become a little more forceful, along with his grip. He doesn’t understand why she isn’t allowing him entrance. Apparently, she’s said as much without even realizing it.

The Dementors have just about finished the job when a sound that is usually so soft and hardly noticeable, turns into the loudest thing ever. The simple ping announcing that the elevator just down the hall has reached its destination is deafening.

Nate is _still_ talking and seems to have missed the sound all together. Andy turns her head to the left just as the girls come bouncing out of the elevator door, looking so happy. They seem so excited and _happy_ to be where they are. They have a right to be here. But Nate doesn’t.

It is Cassidy that stops first. She grabs Caroline’s hand as Miranda steps out of the elevator behind them, and even from this distance Andy can see their tiny hands instantly lock together.

After that everything seems to happen so fast. Nate has not noticed what’s going on down the hall; he’s too busy running his mouth, manipulating, shaking Andy just the slightest bit. He’s getting desperate, and a little angry. He doesn’t understand. But he will in a few seconds.

Miranda drops her handbag and what looks like take-out from that little Italian place down the street right there on the floor. Shoving the girls back into the elevator, Miranda tells Caroline to press the _button_ and that they are to stay in the lobby without argument.

Andy’s already seen Caroline press the button though. She did it as soon as Cassidy grabbed her hand; it looks like a decorative trinket hanging off her backpack. Whenever there is a higher chance than usual of them being bothered by the Press and security is warranted, both the girls have them and help is always close by, mostly hidden in obscurity until needed.

Only this time, all the help Andy will ever need is just a few steps away.

Andy is pinned down by the look on Miranda’s face. Never mind the grip Nate has on her shoulder and his words; it is Miranda that she focuses on. It’s a known fact that they can read each other; they’ve always been able to but there’s no telling what kind of look is on Andy’s face. Miranda, however, looks determined, furious, and oddly affectionate at the same time.

So that is what she focuses on as Miranda walks right up to Nate and shoves him into the wall. Andy is finally free of his touch and she has a feeling that after this, he will never bother her again.

With Miranda’s hand on his throat, Nate couldn’t look more shocked. He’s finally come face to face with his enemy. The woman on the other end of the line whenever Andy used to pick up her phone. The woman that surpassed him in every way possible back then, and now. The woman that has had _all_ the rights for far longer than she’s even aware.

In spite of being the dumbest person on the planet, Nate has sense enough to not fight back physically. Or maybe he’s still too shocked. Either way, Miranda is choking him and he hasn’t moved a muscle in defense.

“If you come within a mile of her,” Miranda is once again speaking in that low and lethal tone and Andy can barely hear her. “Or email her, or _call_ her, you won’t even have time to regret it. _Nate_.”

Just because Nate hasn’t moved and his face is starting to turn purple, doesn’t mean his mouth can’t function. “What are you?” He spits the words out. “Her fucking knight in shining armor? It’s not enough that you run her life anyway…you’ve got stalk her too?”

Miranda, God bless her, rolls her eyes and laughs. She really laughs…and it’s beautiful But then Nate’s face starts to turn _blue_ , and Miranda’s knuckles start to turn white as her hand tightens around his throat even more. “She doesn’t need a knight or anyone else to take care of her,” she practically whispers in his ear and Andy decides to disregard the fact that, in this moment, isn’t true at all. “And unlike _you_ ,” Miranda continues. “I have every right in the _world_ to be here. _Stalking_ isn’t _necessary_.”

And now Nate gets it. By the look on his face, by the way he looks at Andy, she knows he understands everything now. He understands why picking up the phone when Miranda called, was and is still a must. He understands why he was so easily replaced by a _job_. He understands that he has _no_ rights, because Miranda’s had them all along. Now he gets it.

Before he can voice his disbelief or make all sorts of insinuations, Darren appears out of nowhere with Tonya, one of the best members of his team. Andy recognizes her immediately because whenever Cara has to occasionally have a _life_ , Tonya is with the girls. Like Darren, she is ex-military and doesn’t fuck around.  

In an instant, Nate is gone; his feet don’t touch the floor as they take him down the hall to the emergency exit. Andy will never see him again.

A split second later, Miranda almost knocks her down. And if that’s not wonderful enough, Andy _really_ can’t breathe because Miranda’s arms are holding her so tightly. Who needs to stand up straight? Who needs to breathe? What is breathing, anyway? Andy doesn’t need anything else but this.

“I would never do that to you,” Miranda says as she starts kissing Andy’s face in random spots. “I would never treat you that way, Andrea. Never.” Pulling away just enough, she looks Andy in the eye. “No matter what happens between us, I would _never_ treat you that way.”

Well, Andy doesn’t even want to think about that. She doesn’t want to think about a situation where they aren’t together. Not ever.

Tightening her arms around Miranda’s neck, Andy says, “Don’t. Don’t talk like that.”

“What?” Miranda looks incredibly confused.

“Don’t talk like that’s even a thing…a possibility. That we wouldn’t be together. Take it back. I mean I know we haven’t really…talked about…but… Please, take it back.”

Instantly understanding, Miranda takes it all back and replaces it with something else entirely that makes Andy feel so good about so many things. “Very well, then,” Miranda says. “I take it back. But even under _lasting_ circumstances, I will _never_ treat you that way. Never.”

Lasting circumstances… That couldn’t be _more_ Miranda and it is absolutely perfect.

Even though it’s perfect, and even though she is almost too happy to form words, there is something Andy feels like she needs to say.

“I’m sorry you had to…deal with that. I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t…”

Miranda shakes her head. “Shh… No. He had no right to touch you or show his face here.” She pauses for a brief moment and Andy sees a surprising look on Miranda’s face. It can’t be anything but something made of guilt. “Nigel told me that Nate calls you, emails you. Nigel told me. So this was probably inevitable and truthfully, I know that you’re fully capable, Andrea…but I wanted to take care of this. We decided that protection goes both ways, didn’t we?”

So Nigel told her. About Nate. Nigel told Miranda all about Nate and who knows how _long_ she’s known, or how _much_ she knows. _Argh_ , his fucking Rumor Mill…

“Yeah, we did,” Andy sighs. “But I wasn’t there when Greg… I wasn’t there for you today.”

Miranda shakes her head again. “Oh, but you were, Andrea,” she says, looking a little ashamed over the fact that she was not about to deal with it herself. “You were there… I knew you would somehow be there. And you were.”

Oh, to hell with Nate and Greg. Andy is absolutely going to take advantage of this moment and _nothing_ is going to stop her.

She leans in, only an inch away from kissing Miranda, and damn it, there’s that ping again. It’s the girls. Andy just knows. She can sense them. The deep breath she feels Miranda take tells Andy that she senses it too, but in a move that is almost cruel (only because it doesn’t leave Andy any time to reciprocate) as they hear the doors slide open, Miranda kisses her quickly on the mouth, whispers, “I love you,” then lets her go.

_Holy fuck._

For a split second Andy wants to jump up and down and throw a fit like a three year old, but as soon as she sees Caroline and Cassidy running, (Tonya is right behind them with Miranda’s handbag and the take-out) all thoughts of throwing a fit are gone.

It’s easy to see that Caroline is terrified. Cassidy (true to her character) is less terrified but anxious for Caroline to calm down. Andy and Miranda hug them both tightly while Tonya sets the bags back down and takes her leave—but not before telling them that, “Mr. Cooper will be returning to Boston shortly.”

Once Tonya is gone, Caroline is full of questions. “Were you scared?” She asks. “Are you okay? Who was that? Is he coming back?”

Before Andy can even open her mouth, Cassidy says, “I bet that was your ex-boyfriend, huh? Ex-boyfriends are a pain. _Seriously_. I cannot _wait_ until my ex-boyfriend Bradly moves to Michigan this summer with his parents…or Malaysia…or maybe it was Montana…somewhere with an ‘M’. I can’t remember which. But he is a _total_ pain. I have no idea what I was thinking.”

Andy cannot even think about holding in her laughter as Caroline taps her sister none too gently on the forehead.

“God, you are _so_ stupid!” Caroline says and it’s clear she’s forgotten all about Nate and the drama they’ve just been through, and definitely doesn’t care about having her questions answered now. “Look at Mom!” Caroline yells again. “She’s gonna flip out. She _is_ flipping out! I told you not to say anything about your _stupid_ boyfriend. Like _ever_.”

Since Miranda seems to only be able to stare at Cassidy, her _eleven_ year old daughter, with wide eyes and an open mouth, Andy keeps laughing and takes all the bags inside. The girls follow along behind her, tossing their backpacks wherever (like all kids do), and Caroline continues to berate Cassidy and insinuate again that she was dropped on her head at birth and this time—possibly kicked as well.

And still, Miranda hasn’t said a word.

In fact, Miranda doesn’t say anything at all until Andy points out (over the noise of Cassidy screaming her way through a meltdown) that her Next Generation marathon is on and recording. “Oh, how wonderful,” she says, like Bradly never existed, and then disappears into the bedroom to change. She comes out a few minutes later in jeans and a sweater that Andy just wants to rip off of her.

Not long after that the girls are done yelling at each other and in their pajamas, four plates are piled high with carbohydrates and fat (that taste incredible), and Jean-Luc is running around in green tights. Greg and Nate are a million miles away from them and everyone is perfectly safe. Andy has never been happier.

Miranda loves her.

Three hours later, once dinner is finished and the girls have run off to the bathroom (because that’s just the coolest thing ever) to watch a movie instead of another episode of Next Generation, Andy finally gets to tell Miranda that she loves her too.

TO BE CONTINUED


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

For Andy, telling someone that isn’t her mother, father or grandparents that she loves them, has never come easy. Remembering this gives her pause when the opportunity to do so arrives. In this kind of situation, Andy has never said those three words first, and never said them second and actually meant them. That’s right. _Never_. It was always a mind trick with Nate, like something that just followed along with his words, but was never true. Not one single time did those words come out of Andy’s mouth in his presence without being covered in lies. She never trusted him. She never trusted him to stick around.

But she trusts Miranda, and somehow knows that Miranda will... Miranda will always be here.

The twins have been gone for exactly fourteen minutes when Miranda gets up from the couch (only because the show is on a commercial break) and goes into the kitchen. The only light on in there is the one above the sink, so when the light from refrigerator shines bright for over a minute, Andy grins. Even Miranda is not immune to being indecisive while staring into such things.

Finally the refrigerator door shuts but Miranda doesn’t come back. Andy realizes this is her chance.

Maybe it’s not the right moment though because Miranda is simply standing there at the sink doing nothing. She’s just standing there. Which means something is probably wrong. Come to think of it, in those fourteen minutes without the girls, Miranda hadn’t said two words or even looked at Andy. So something’s wrong...

As Andy gets closer she lets out of a quiet breath of relief. She’s so stupid; nothing is wrong. Miranda is just there under the light, trying to very carefully dislodge an icy Death Star from a silicone mold.

“So you found the _ice_ , I see,” Andy says quietly as she closes in on Miranda who jumps a little in surprise.

Half turning, she says, “Yes… I did. Pellegrino?”  Miranda holds up the bottle that’s next to her. It’s been in the refrigerator for a week so Andy knows it’s plenty chilled as it is. Add that together with the fact that Miranda never uses ice, and Andy knows she is just plain curious about what she’s found in the freezer.

Grinning at the thought, Andy replies, “Sure, but I don’t need ice. You go on. Besides, it’s the only Death Star I have. Well…in ice form.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Miranda smirks then turns back to the sink.

Andy watches her for another minute then reaches for it, taking the mold from her hands without permission.

“Let me show you,” she says, giving Miranda a smile. “It’s tricky. You sort of have to peel one part away at a time.”

“Oh…” Miranda whispers. Surprisingly, it comes out sounding like a child who might feel stupid for messing something up that is so simple.

Quickly, Andy thinks of a way to reassure Miranda that her attempt was just fine.

“It took me a long time to figure out how to do it without dropping it or messing up the detail in the process. Trial and error, sort of, you know?”

“I suppose.” Miranda sounds a little more confident and watches intently as Andy peels away the pieces to reveal a perfectly round and very detailed Death Star.

Instead of dropping it directly into Miranda’s waiting glass, Andy hands it to her. “You should look at it first. Once you pour the drink, it starts to melt pretty fast. The details, anyway.”

With the tips of her fingers, Miranda takes it from her and holds it up close since her glasses are not within reach. It’s actually cute, in a way, and Andy knows this probably shouldn’t make her smile so big but she can’t help it.

But then it comes.

“I’m still stuck choosing between Man Cave and Nerd Land,” Miranda says as she drops the Death Star into her glass, then pours in the Pellegrino.

“Hey!” Andy bumps her arm. “You said you weren’t going to say that shit anymore.”

Miranda finally turns to face Andy and there’s a definite sparkle of amusement in her eye.

“I made no such promise.”

“Oh?” Andy makes a face. “I thought you did.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Well, damn.”

“Yes... _Damn_. You’ve made three jokes about Jean-Luc and the Prime Directive in the past few hours, Andrea.”

“So I just have to suffer?”

“Apparently.”

After a second of silence and simply staring at one another, Miranda pushes Andy’s hair back from her face and she holds her breath. The tips of her fingers are like ice and fire all at the same time.

“Is it possible that I overstepped? Earlier…” Miranda pauses and swallows hard, looking away as if she’s embarrassed. “In the hallway? Did I—“

Andy knows in an instant what Miranda is referring to and can’t interrupt her fast enough. “No,” Andy says, bravely putting a hand over Miranda’s mouth before she can start up again. “You didn’t overstep. You just didn’t say it at a time when I could…say it back, Miranda.”

“I see.” Miranda says once Andy’s removed her hand. There is more hope in her eyes than Andy’s seen in a long time.

“Right,” Andy sighs, dreading her next words. But she’s got to tell her. She’s _got_ to be honest with Miranda. “Miranda, I’ve never said it first.” Andy just spits it out to get started. “And I’ve never said it second…and meant it. It’s only fair that you know.”

The earlier hope in Miranda’s eyes swiftly disappears. Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it? Andy knows she can’t let that stop her, though, so she presses on, gently touching Miranda’s forehead with her own.

“It’s kind of a problem I have,” she whispers, praying to God that Miranda understands while trying like hell to not think about _why_ exactly it is that she has this particular problem to begin with. Before she can chicken out altogether, Andy simply says the word that will probably explain everything. At least for now. “Trust,” she says, “isn’t something I’m good at. Which means I just lie about it…you know? I just say the words because it’s what I’m supposed to do. Or I thought I was supposed to…”

Miranda moves away from her then and looks her in the eye. Her expression is full of something that looks a lot like disappointment now, instead of hope. “I wanted you to be able to trust me,” she says. “That’s what I’ve been trying to… I can’t explain it, but even if you don’t, if you don’t feel that way about me, that’s fine. I still feel this way about you. I love you. You don’t…have to say it back, Andrea. It’s only fair that you know…”

Oh, fuck. _No, no, no._

Hearing that come out of Miranda’s mouth, feels like a knife to the chest. To know that she’s willing to entertain the idea of settling for something less than the return of her own feelings, makes the knife go in even deeper.

“No. Wait, Miranda,” Andy says, desperate for this to turn out right. “I do love you. I do. _Really_. And I mean that. I’m not just…saying it because I think I have to. I mean it. I love you, Miranda.”

Miranda says nothing, opting to stare at Andy instead with a blank look that she can’t read. Since that is the case, there’s only one thing left to do. She kisses her. She kisses Miranda and it is not a quick kiss or even remotely chaste, but real, deep and long. And soft too, ever so soft… This has to last. She will not rush. Granted, she’s got to force herself to remember this, but Andy will _not_ rush.

It’s really stupid, but she can’t help but see every single glance in her head, and feel every slight touch they’ve shared in the entire time they’ve known each other. Not just these past few days, but the entire time. Has this possibly been building all along? It sure feels like it. When Andy slips her arms around Miranda’s waist and pulls her close, it sure feels like it. When Miranda melts into her right away instead of holding back, it sure feels like it. And when Miranda slides both her hands into Andy’s hair and sighs into her mouth, it feels like they should have done this a long damn time ago.

“This is incredibly overdue…,” Miranda whispers against Andy’s lips, taking the words right from her thoughts before kissing her again. Andy barely has time to take a breath…and this time…

Pushing Miranda back against the kitchen counter, she only vaguely recalls that Caroline and Cassidy are in the apartment and can’t figure out why it matters anyway once she starts kissing her way down Miranda’s throat. And God…she smells so good. So good…

Unable to help it, Andy nuzzles then bites gently. Miranda sinks down a little bit but Andy’s arms keep her from going anywhere. “You smell so good, Miranda.” She can hardly form the words as Miranda holds her head in place.

“It’s just soap,” Miranda manages to say like the smartass that she is. “Just soap…”

Ironically enough, this is partially true. Miranda seldom wears perfume. Andy’s been around long enough to know her skin is extraordinarily sensitive and most things, no matter how much they cost, cause Miranda to have a serious allergic reaction. Luckily, Andy’s on this organic kick right now, so all her shampoos and soaps are allergic reaction free. But there’s more to Miranda’s scent than soap. It’s her…just her. Her skin is pure heaven.

Before Andy can make a reply that’s worth anything equal to Miranda’s, some kind of joke about soap or whatever, she feels two hands that had just been in her hair seconds ago, none to hesitantly slide down and grip her ass. And of course Andy’s shocked. Miranda’s hands are on her ass. _Holy fuck…_

Without realizing it (sort of), Andy presses harder against Miranda, while at the same time, rolling her hips just enough to encourage Miranda’s hands to keep on doing what they’re busy doing.

And does it ever encourage… And pushing the neck of Miranda’s sweater down far enough to kiss newly exposed skin encourages Miranda even further. As she pulls at Andy, roughly kneading her ass, it makes her remember that dream of being on the Millennium Falcon. What was it Miranda had said? _“Oh, Andrea. Your ass is hardly unpleasant.”_ Yep, that was it. _God…_

Just when Andy’s starting to think about returning to Miranda’s mouth to suffocate her, Miranda beats her to it, moving one of her hands to Andy’s face. “How fast is too fast?” Miranda murmurs before pulling Andy’s head up to capture her lips. For sixty seconds she doesn’t get to answer but finally, after Miranda has nearly rendered her unable to stand by sucking, biting and teasing Andy to death with her mouth, she gets to answer.

“Considering…” Andy has to stop to take a breath first then leans in to whisper in Miranda’s ear. “That all I want to do is tear your clothes off and make love to you right here on this kitchen floor, Miranda, I’m not qualified to answer.”

“Oh, God…” Miranda groans, gliding her hands down and down Andy’s sides. Even with a layer of fabric between her hands and Andy’s skin, they nearly scorch her. “I want that too,” Miranda says. “It’s been torture. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Not telling you. Not having you…”

“Well, you have me now, Miranda. You have me now.” Andy kisses Miranda’s cheek and lazily strokes her back, trying to calm them both. As hard as it is, she knows pulling Miranda down to the floor is not an option tonight. Apparently, Miranda realizes this too and wraps her arms around Andy’s neck with a sigh that is full of disappointment and contentment. Only Miranda could produce a sigh like that. Only Miranda.

Somehow they’re able to pry themselves apart; the Death Star in Miranda’s glass has melted down to nothing by now and they’ve nearly done the same themselves. And yes, in spite of what has just happened Miranda still has it in her to be ticked off about missing the rest of her beloved television show. There’s a rewind button on the remote, though, so she stops bitching pretty quickly.  They watch the remainder of the episode sitting on the couch side-by-side, and even though they could fast-forward through the commercial breaks now, the suggestion to do so never comes. They’re more in favor of kissing and it feels like junior high right here in her very own living room. Well, Andy never made out with anybody in junior high _or_ high school so she really doesn’t know for sure, but she has a feeling that this is pretty close to it. Probably even better.

All too soon the twins are done with their movie in the bathroom and it is regrettably time for bed. They’re pissed about it but not too pissed to fall asleep ten minutes after lying down. Andy knows it’s not going to be as easy for her. Not tonight. Not in this bed. Not even with Caroline and Cassidy as a barrier, she’s not going to be able to sleep here.

“I should probably sleep on the couch,” Andy says right before Miranda gets under the covers.

Miranda looks completely confused. “You should?” She asks with an eyebrow raised high.

Andy swallows down a groan. This is going to suck so bad. It’s their last night here. Tomorrow night it’ll just be Andy, her kickass televisions and a bowl of cereal. And that’s it. Miranda and the girls will be halfway across town. There won’t be anything here but Andy. Yet, if she stays in here tonight, she’ll no doubt toss and turn, keeping everyone else awake. “Yeah, probably,” Andy says finally. “I don’t know if I could…fall asleep…here.”

Nodding, in what Andy hopes is understanding, Miranda lets the issue drop with a, “Whatever you think is best,” just like she did about their sleeping arrangements Sunday night.

Taking one last look to insure that the twins are in fact asleep, Andy comes around the bed and kisses Miranda. She’s chin deep in blankets now and the urge to be there with her (minus kids) is even stronger. But she can’t. Not tonight. The couch is the only safe place to be tonight.

“I love you,” Andy says, bending down to kiss Miranda. “If something happens, I’ll hear it.” That’s got to be said. Andy knows that for certain.

“I know you will.” Miranda returns the kiss and runs the back of her hand against Andy’s cheek. “I know you’ll be here. I love you too.”

As predicted, sleep is long in arriving. The couch (as she already knows) isn’t comfortable for this sort of thing and to top it off, she forgot her pillow. There are plenty of throw blankets around the living room and a few decorative pillows so Andy makes the best out of the situation.

Honestly, sleep isn’t as long in arriving as Andy thinks. Forty-five minutes from getting comfortable (as if) on the couch, she’s out like a light and walking through Hogsmeade, which feels unbelievably good.

It’s nighttime for a change, and snowing; the entire place looks just like it should. Like a Christmas card.

Thank God she’s dressed for it, layered up like crazy with a leather jacket tying everything together that doesn’t even begin to match. She’s use to that by now though. Star Wars and Gryffindor mixing but somehow making perfect sense.

For reasons unknown to her, Hogshead Inn just feels like it’s the place to be, so knocking off as much snow as possible from her boots, Andy opens the door.

She stands there for a second and takes a deep breath, looking at everything going on.

The place is packed and for a minute she doesn’t understand what she sees. In fact, she’s a little freaked out. There are people everywhere, but there are also loads of Stormtroopers here too. _What in the hell?_

Before she goes for her wand or reverts to straight up running out the door altogether, Andy suddenly realizes that this okay. This is actually familiar, something she’s seen before, but forgotten about. Shaking her head to clear the final remnants of disbelief, Andy walks over to a bar that’s towards the back and sits down on a stool. She doesn’t remember it being here before but why the hell not? Besides, there’s a big-screen television back here (another thing she doesn’t remember) and a Quittage match is on ESPN.

 Before Aberforth can even set a cold bottle of Buttebeer in front of her, the door opens again and everybody… _everybody_ …goes silent. Scared shitless, Andy slowly turns her head and almost falls off the stool. It’s Dumbledore. It’s…how? _How_?

Without thinking about how stupid it looks, Andy jumps down (once she’s sure she’s not going to _fall_ down instead) and races towards him, throwing her arms around his neck. Thankfully, he makes no real fuss about it other than to pat her on the back a few times and say, “It’s all your fault.”

What? What’s all her fault? Is she in trouble?

He never answers, electing instead to simply shake his head and nudge her back toward the bar. Aberforth does the answering. “It _is_ your fault,” he says. “What’d you expect? With all that _mess_ about Han Solo becoming Headmaster. See?” He sighs dramatically and of course, gives his brother Albus a nasty as hell look before turning back to Andy, “This is _all_ your fault.”

“I couldn’t very well let that happen, now could I?” Albus breaks in before Andy can try to claim innocence. Seriously, it was just a joke she’s said completely to herself. “Coming back from my little _adventure_ , just to save Minerva the trouble of being committed, is worth it, I’d say.”

Anybody that’s been listening, including Andy, gives a definite cheer to that and a good swig from their drinks. Professor McGonagall going completely bonkers on an easy day was bad enough but Han Solo taking over would have put her over the edge with no return ticket. Andy sure as hell won’t be making any jokes like again.

After the cheers die down, things turn serious and kind of depressing. As if making that crack about Han running the school wasn’t dumb enough, Professor Dumbledore gets on her about something else entirely.

“Andy, do you intend to squander your education?”

Huh? Oh, shit! Fucking Potions class…

“I thought as much,” he reads her facial expression. “Your studies are lacking, shall we say, proper attention? Yes, I believe that’s what I’ve been hearing. _Lacking_. Particularly in your Potions class.”

Well, damn it.

“You are here as a privilege,” Dumbledore says in a voice that is low and stern, probably so he can scare her and avoid embarrassing her at the same time. “I realize you’re here more or less as a game,” he continues, “but it is a privilege. You know this, yet you are wasting the opportunity you have been given.”

“Yes, sir. I know.” Andy hangs her head and starts peeling away at the label on her bottle. Could anything suck worse than getting scolded like this? By _him_?

“Good then!” He says with a smile like everything is suddenly okay again. “I expect more than just passing grades by the end of this term. After all, you’re the oldest student here and you must set a good example.”

Argh, Andy hates that ‘Good Example’ crap more than anything else in the world. But, he’s right. As much as she hates to admit it, he’s right. She’s got to get herself together.

“I will,” she says. “I’ll do better. And no more chasing kids with my lightsaber. I swear. Good Example is my middle name from here on out.”

“That’ll be the day.” Aberforth grumbles from his place behind the bar. “I’ll sell all my goats if that happens.”

Andy can’t help but laugh at that. “Miranda would approve,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. And hey…what if Miranda is here? Like right now?

“Ah, yes,” Professor Dumbledore looks at her and smiles. “Miranda? I must hear more about this…but after the game, hm?”

“Sure,” Andy nods and turns her attention back to the television. If Miranda is here, she’ll find her later. Anyway, she’s probably nose deep in the Book right about now and it wouldn’t do to dis—

The door blasting open startles Andy. Hell, it startles everybody and Andy turns in her seat quickly to see what new and hopefully non-scary thing is headed her way.

She has to twist and turn to see through all the Stormtroopers that are now standing at attention but finally, _finally_ she sees. Vader. Darth Fucking Vader. But what the hell? This feels alright too! Just like all the Stormtroopers being here, this feels alright. Wait. Honeydukes! He runs Honeydukes! She’d made a joke about that. Just like Han Solo being the new Headmaster, she’d made a joke about this. Fucking hilarious.

“Oh, my,” Aberforth groans. “I wonder what’s wrong _this_ time.”

“What?” Andy asks without looking. Her eyes are glued to massive black figure headed right for them. “What do you mean by _wrong_?”

“Look at him,” Dumbledore nods in his direction as Vader gets closer and closer. “He’s clearly upset.”

“How can you tell?”

“Can’t you?” Dumbledore looks at her in surprise. “I dare say if the only measure you find available when judging someone’s happiness is their face, then I am disappointed. Masks and cloaks are everywhere, capable of hiding a great deal, but there are always other clues. Other ways to see…”

Other ways to see? Oh, boy. Andy’s head is starting to hurt. Then again, there’s no time to care because, yes, here he is. Darth Vader. Sitting down right next to her; the sound of his breathing drowns out all the other noise around them. And he’s so tall! Maybe a little _thicker_ than she imagined, but definitely tall. This is terrifyingly awesome.

“Hello, Andy,” he greets her without looking at her and she almost faints. He knows her. How the hell does he know her? Can this get weirder?

“Uh…hi. Hi, Vader.”

Now he turns to her and she feels like she’s getting dumber by the second. How is she supposed to know what he’s thinking, much less feeling if she cannot _see_ him?

With a tilt of his head, he says in that deep voice that makes Andy unable to decide whether she’d like to hide under a table or beg him to read her a bedtime story, “You usually call me Big D. Which is disrespectful, by the way. But it’s fine,” he turns his head back toward the bar and looks down. “It’s _fine_.”

So he’s depressed. He _sounds_ depressed. His shoulders are slumping big time, too, so he’s got to be depressed, right? And Andy calls him Big D? God, this is messed up and Tylenol will _not_ cure the headache she’s sure to have in the morning.

“Well,” Andy swallows hard then takes a sip of Butterbeer to calm her nerves. It doesn’t have any alcohol in it but whatever. “Okay, then…Big D…how’s everything these days? Over at Honeydukes?”

“Going according to plan, I suppose.” Aberforth puts a glass in front of him. It’s got an icy Death Star at the bottom and some kind of dark liquor. Probably scotch or something. And it’s got a straw… Andy nearly has to bite her tongue off to keep from laughing. “But I’m having problems with an important shipment.” He stops to take a big sip from the straw that somehow fits inside his helmet and again, Andy bites her tongue. Where is her cellphone when she needs it? This is Instagram gold. “I need an increase in inventory,” he continues. “Before the holiday break. For the train. But there are… _difficulties_. Incompetence runs rampant these days. As it is, we’re already running dangerously low on Chocolate Frogs.”

Andy cringes when he says the word ‘difficulties’ like it’s an automatic that somebody’s probably going to die if he doesn’t get his candy on time. “Everything will fine, I’m sure,” Andy says trying to sound hopeful like she does with Miranda all the time.

“Yes,” Vader… _Big D_ …takes another sip from his drink. “It will be fine.”

Okay, then.

Aberforth gives her a weird look then and she gives him one right back. What else is she supposed to say? Then, out of the corner of his mouth he says, “Ask him about Sybill. What’s wrong with you?”

Sybill? Anna? Or Sybill…the _real_ one? Professor Trelawney? And why would Andy do that anyway?

“She doesn’t remember!” Professor Dumbledore jumps in semi-quietly. “How you could ever expect her to remember she’s the primary counselor to someone such as him is beyond comprehension.”

“If you ask me,” Aberforth rolls his eyes and nearly breaks the glass he’s drying. “A _lot_ is beyond your comprehension, brother.”

“Can we talk about _this_?” Andy interjects. “Instead of fighting about _whatever_? Because I’m about to freak out.”

Albus sighs then manages to tear myself away from the game that he’s been staring at this whole time. “He has certain feelings, you might say. But has yet to figure out the way in which he should go. Is it so hard to imagine? If you think about it, this is a mirror. More or less. Was Miranda not in this same position?”

“Well, Miranda isn’t here!”

“This was never her job to begin with. Now go on. Be… _supportive_.”

Aberforth makes a noise but Andy chooses to ignore him to spare herself the annoyance and squares her shoulders, determined to be supportive in the _weirdest_ situation ever. Once this decision is made, the strangest thing happens. She remembers. All of the sudden Andy remembers their past conversation about this very thing. _Big D_ is scared. He’s scared Sybill won’t like him, that she’ll be afraid of him…intimidated. Andy’s heard all this before in some form or other from him—and Miranda.

In an instant, she knows exactly what to say.

“So, Big D, have you talked to Professor Trelawney lately?”

In between the sound of his breathing, Andy hears a groan…and then, Big D performs a classic face-palm. “No,” he says with a hand still on his face…helmet…whatever. “I tried twice, but every time I go see her there’s a notice on the door, “Do not disturb, crystal gazing,” so what am I supposed to do?”

Oh, boy. Not that bullshit with the sign again. That is always a total pain.

Then, without really thinking, Andy says the dumbest thing. “Well, doesn’t she come in here? You could see her in here, you know.”

Everybody at the bar looks at her. _Everybody_. Even Dumbledore, who’s eyes might as well have been welded to the television a few seconds ago. But, why wouldn’t they all look at her like she’s an idiot? Sybill doesn’t come in here! She’s trying to quit drinking, or so the rumor is. Nobody knew why she finally decided to quit the sherry habit but _quit_ it is. So no bars, inns, anything. None.

“Sorry,” Andy says apologetically. “I forgot about the drinking thing. Maybe you should try sending an owl? Send her a message? The Christmas dance is coming up soon. You could ask…”

Once again, Big D sighs. “She probably wouldn’t. With me… And I don’t know how to dance. Besides, what could come of it?” He asks, pounding a fist on the table, making every glass jump. “Sybill would never like me and even if she did, I don’t deserve it.”

Andy doesn’t need to see his face to know Big D must be seconds away from bawling his eyes out. The sad truth is, just like Miranda, he’s a pretty sensitive person. And insecure. Who would have ever guessed?

Leaning in close, she whispers, “You do, okay? You do deserve it. Where does it say you shouldn’t be happy?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” His voice goes from deep to high then back again. “Andy, you’ve hit your head.”

“Not lately I haven’t.”

“I think you’re wrong. About everything…”

“I’m not,” she says, “You’re the Chosen One.” He lifts his head to no doubt shut her up but she goes on because what she’s got to say is the absolute truth. “You were chosen to bring balance to the Force. The way it happened is done and over with. Move forward. You know what you are…inside. Deep down. And it’s okay to want good things. Stop punishing yourself.”

“ _Anakin_ was the Chosen One.”

“And that _is_ who you are. Anakin Skywalker.” Andy bumps him lightly on the shoulder and it’s surprisingly not all hard and plastic like she thought it would be. “You need to try harder to believe that,” she continues. “I know you do anyway…deep down you know. You’re just afraid. But you can’t do that anymore _Anakin_.” Andy decides right then that she will never call him anything but Anakin again. It’s for his own good. “Stop being afraid,” she continues. “Stop being afraid of happiness and be who you really are. Trust me. Sybill Trelawney will love that guy, just like I love Miranda. It’ll work out if you give it a chance. Send her an owl. Ask her to the Christmas dance. Just do it.”

Andy gives him time to gather himself; he’s definitely got a lot to think about.  But while she’s waiting…something else happens and suddenly she is not at Hogshead Inn anymore. She’s in the Gryffindor common room instead and there waiting for her on the couch…is Miranda.

“I was wondering when you were going to get here,” Miranda says as she walks over and pulls Andy along. She doesn’t even get to reply, ending up on couch…underneath the most gorgeous woman imaginable.

“We’re going to get caught!” Andy laughs as Miranda goes straight for her neck, kissing her into an absolute frenzy almost immediately.

“I don’t care,” Miranda growls in her ear as she slips a knee between her legs.

At a loss for words, Andy pulls Miranda’s head up and kisses her hard. Just from this, just from sixty seconds of being with her, Andy’s already so wet. She’ll never be able to sit on this couch again without blushing.

The way things are going, Miranda might as well be fucking her right here. Her tongue is doing deadly things to Andy’s mouth and her hands are all over the place. All…over the place…and it’s impossible not to rock against Miranda’s knee so she doesn’t stop herself from it.

Not even a minute later, Miranda slips one hand under her head to get her attention and the other between her legs…. _inside_ her jeans; Andy comes undone. In the middle of it all, in the middle of looking into Miranda’s eyes while she holds on tight, breaking into a million pieces, Miranda whispers, “You’re going to be in my bed a lot sooner than you think, darling. A lot sooner.”

And of course, this is when Andy falls off the couch. Not in the dream, but in her living room. Right off the couch she falls, and just like the last time, Andy knows she’s hurt herself. Apparently, the coffee table is even more dangerous than her nightstand.

Before she can even try to sit up, light pours into the room and yes, here’s Miranda in that silk sleep shirt that’s been driving Andy crazy for days.

Coming over to her quickly, Miranda scoots the coffee table away while Andy continues to just lie there and stare at her. “Is this my fault? Did I kiss you again?” Miranda asks sounding playful, yet worried, too.

Andy, without a filter, says, “ _Yes_. This is your fault. But you were doing a hell of a lot more than kissing me.”

“Well, I…that is…” Miranda coughs, unable to finish her sentence, and there’s just enough light to see that her cheeks turn red.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” Andy tries to sit up, but fails. Miranda kneels down instantly and starts to assist then stops.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Andy puts a hand to her temple, the same side she hit the other day, and sure enough, she’s bleeding.

Once Miranda stops fussing over her head, they make it into the bathroom for a band-aid and pain-killers. It’s cute to see her this worried; Andy wonders if she’ll ever be able to take ‘Mean Miranda’ seriously at work ever again. Probably not. In fact, Andy’s pretty sure she’s royally screwed when it comes to that place and Miranda now. But she’ll just have to worry about that tomorrow because Miranda leaves no time for it, dragging Andy toward the bedroom, claiming that, “Apparently you’re unfit to be alone.”

That couldn't be closer to the truth, but little does Andy realize, that statement goes both ways.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This doesn’t need repeating – but I’m going to repeat it anyway: Work is hellish right now so I apologize for not posting this sooner. Between work and trying to sleep, I’m kind of sucking at life right now.
> 
> Another Note: When this chapter was written quite a few months ago, my sister SM and I were going through a bunch of bullshit collectively and separately. One night here at work she said, “I can’t count my blessing.” I agreed then we went outside to count the stars instead and later that night I was able to finish the last half of this in a much happier mood. So – thank you sister.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Waking up is officially the nastiest idea in the world, so Andy decides that she’s not going to. However, Miranda decides differently. Even in her begrudgingly semi-conscious state, Andy realizes that the twins are out of the bed and in the kitchen, eating whatever cereal happens to be left in the apartment, so when Miranda reaches out, she doesn’t hesitate.

“I refuse to get up,” Andy mumbles as she rolls onto her back and Miranda moves in close to settle into her shoulder. This might only be the second time, but it already feels like this position should be the norm for them. It feels safe.

“We have twenty more minutes,” Miranda whispers in her ear.

“You’ve got twenty. I have forever. I’m not moving. My head hurts and the entire world sucks.”

“Are you usually this _happy_ in the morning?”

“Do you usually _talk_ this much in the morning?”

For about five minutes Miranda is as silent and still as the grave, so silent that Andy barely hears her breathing which is great because as precious as this time is with Miranda, she only wants silence. And not just for the sake of her headache or bad mood, but because she’d like to freeze this moment in her memory forever. She cannot forget this. Who knows when it’ll happen again?

Knowing that their last moments in bed are going by all too quickly, Andy decides to be a little nicer. Her version of nice is stupid, though, since she brings up the most depressing thing.

“So is everything ready at the townhouse? You never said anything about…anything, yesterday.”

There’s not a chance in hell she could miss the feeling of Miranda stiffen in her arms or the heavy sigh she lets out. _Stupid_. Why did she have to be so stupid this morning?

“It is according to Cara and Darren. You may as well know that Detective Henley…or the police…found my clothes. And, well…the photographs. The framed ones from events and things, remember?”

“Say _what_?” Andy tries to sit up but Miranda presses her back down into the bed. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“The opportunity never came up,” Miranda says like she knows that’s total bullshit. “And the twins don’t know so please be quiet. It was all in a dumpster…across town…burnt. Identification was luckily, I suppose, made due to the fact that apparently, there are homeless individuals paying very good attention to what I wear and I suppose some of the pictures were not as _crispy_ as this…whoever…hoped for. It’s too depressing to talk about, really. The whole thing. I hate this.”

 _Crispy_? If this were anything else, Andy would crack up. But this is too serious for that. Why in the hell would anybody burn thousands upon thousands of dollar’s worth of clothes? Why? And the photographs?

Maybe, whoever it is just didn’t care. If they didn’t care, though, why take them in the first place? Why go to the trouble? At least no paintings were obviously found in said dumpster. Andy knows Miranda would have never been able to _not_ tell her that yesterday or today. She’s never directly said anything about the painting to Andy; Anna had to do it, after all, but this wouldn’t be something Miranda could handle being closed lipped about. Will there ever be a day when Miranda chooses to discuss it? The paintings? Her mother? Before Andy can gather the courage to ask, Miranda goes on.

“This is one time I can be truly thankful for Nigel,” she continues, changing the subject in her own way. Her mouth is so close to Andy’s neck that she can feel the words vibrate against her skin. If they weren’t talking about such a crappy thing, she’d be incredibly turned on right now. “He knows what I like. My closet is full again but I’ve seen little of it. So long as I’m saved from the denim crisis, whatever Nigel’s put together is fine with me.”

“You look good in jeans, though.” Andy says tugging Miranda just a little closer, opening her eyes for the first time this morning. Instantly, she regrets not being more mentally with it five minutes ago. That’s five minutes wasted when she could have been looking at this. At Miranda, who almost looks like a completely different person in the morning. Andy wonders when she’ll get to see Miranda like this again. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Ignoring the comment about the jeans, Miranda is the one to bring up the next _stupid_ topic: their age. Kissing her cheek, Miranda says, “You look even younger like this. In the morning.”

Oh, God. Not _this_ again. Andy cannot do this this morning. Or ever, really. It’s just not something she cares about, even if Miranda does, Andy _doesn’t_ and can’t see herself ever doing so. To hopefully put the situation to rest once and for all, Andy goes straight back to her school bus idea.

“Like I said before—school bus. Totally finding one as soon as possible.”

Miranda makes a noise of disbelief then says, “You’re really not going to discuss it are you?”

“No.”

“So it does not matter to you? And I’m to be as indifferent?”

“Uh, _no_ it doesn’t matter and _yes_ , you’re supposed to be indifferent. Unless…I mean, unless you aren’t?” Now Andy worries. What if it’s something Miranda really cares about and Andy’s just been an idiot?

“I don’t,” Miranda says with a sigh. “I really don’t. But it feels like I should.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

“You think that’s best?”

“I do.”

“Alright then.” There is lightness in her tone that honestly surprises Andy. The easy acceptance of the issue being dropped seems…too easy, almost. Easy, yet the truth, like this is truly the last time they’ll visit the topic of numbers. Because that’s really all it is to Andy; a number that doesn’t mean a damn thing.

The alarm sounds seconds later and neither of them moves. Well, Andy does. She holds Miranda tighter and tighter. It probably hurts but no complain is given. All Miranda does is kiss the side of her face and neck in about a million different places until the sound of cereal bowls being dropped into the sink force them apart.

Just like yesterday, Andy remains in bed to watch Miranda walk away and this time, from the sway of Miranda’s hips, she’s absolutely certain Miranda knows she’s watching and why. It nearly drives her mad.

The girls are in a horrible mood. Like really horrible. They’re not fighting, but tension is definitely under the surface just waiting to explode. Caroline’s got that worried and apprehensive look on her face and Cassidy, who usually seems to be unaffected by everything (unless it’s about being dropped at birth) is even more so. What in the hell is the matter? Should she even ask?

While she rushes around trying to get her hair and make-up into some lowly version of perfection that will also hide her latest injury to the head, Miranda (without being asked) braids both the girls’ hair, drinks two cups of coffee and yells at people (in her quiet, lethal way) on her cell phone all at the same time. To watch it all makes Andy dizzy and she’s pretty sure she’ll never be that good at multitasking.

Helping everybody pack their bags is the most miserable thing, and makes Andy want to crawl under the bed and hide indefinitely. And no one seems too excited about it. In a way that feels good; to know they’re not in a hurry to leave, but it’s still got to happen all the same. They’ve _got_ to go and when Roy shows up (Darren has decided that they’re free to do as they please since the media has run off to the next story), Andy helps him stuff everything into the trunk of the Mercedes. Until now she hadn’t realized her three guests had accumulated so much stuff at her place. It only serves to make Andy more conscious of the fact that when she gets home tonight, her apartment will seem all the more empty.

On the way to Dalton, Caroline and Cassidy are stuck between them. Miranda’s sunglasses are plastered to her face and her mouth is set in a thin line. It makes Andy wonder if somebody’s already pissed her off this morning. Maybe one of those phone calls didn’t go so well. Hopefully none of it has to do with Greg.

No, she’s pretty certain that if Greg had called, Andy would already know about it because Miranda doesn’t seem so much as beaten down as she does just plain mad. If she’s learned anything within the past few days, it’s that the repercussion of dealing with Greg looks completely different on Miranda than dealing with work.

When it’s work, Miranda is angry, but on top.

When it’s Greg, Miranda is doubtful about every single thing in the world and buried underneath it all.

They’re not even halfway to school when Caroline, kicking the back of the front seat for the hundredth time, is more than Andy’s head can take. It is clearly time for more painkillers and a distraction.

“Hey,” Andy says, trying to sound cheerful even though she wants to scream for a handful of unhappy reasons, “You want to play a game on my phone? I’ve got a few good ones.” Caroline stops kicking the seat, Andy thanks every version of God she’s ever heard about and points out the ‘folder’ where all the games are. Miranda doesn’t bat an eyelash and seconds later Cassidy’s attention is pulled toward the phone too.

But then it comes. They’ve found something else to occupy their time. They’ve found her pictures.

“Who’s this?” Cassidy asks, jerking Andy out of her daydream of being back in bed asleep with Miranda.

Looking down, she smiles, not worried at all that they’re totally invading her privacy because it’s a picture of her and her mom. The one face she desperately needs to see. In person.

“Oh, that’s my mom,” Andy says with that same smile still on her face. “We were in Hawaii there. A couple years ago.” She doesn’t bother to explain the fact that whenever she gets a new phone, Andy transfers hundreds of pictures to it from her computer. There’s no telling when they’ll come in handy, so it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Sometimes Andy just needs to be reassured…

After that, there are more seconds of silence than need be, but before Andy can dumbly say anything else about their trip, Caroline opens her mouth.

“You’re like totally burnt to a crisp!” She says this so seriously that it might as well have come straight out of Miranda’s mouth instead. “Sunscreen is never an option,” she finishes, and then Cassidy takes her turn, reminding Andy that there is one thing about her mother that is _still_ , sometimes, a _thing_. It’s just not a _thing_ that Andy bothers to think about.

“This is your _step_ -mom, right?” Cassidy asks her with that classic eyebrow raised high. “She’s not…” Cassidy stops there; the look on her face is uncertain, and Andy’s brain finally catches up to the facts. Cassidy simply does not know how to ask the question she wants an answer to. “She’s not white,” Cassidy spits out the truth and immediately Caroline hits her. Only this time there’s no discussion of who was dropped at birth and no melt-down over it because it’s perfectly natural that Caroline wants an answer too, but thinks Cassidy could have asked in a better way. It’s hardly a secret that Caroline probably believes her sister could stand to do a lot of things better.

And no. Sheree Sachs is not white, and she is _technically_ not her mother… But the truth is, the reality of the word ‘step-mother’ and the politically correct term  ‘African-American’, have never had the chance to matter. The only thing that’s ever mattered, _ever_ mattered at all is that Sheree stayed. _She_ is Andy’s mother. There has never been anyone else.

How can she explain that though? How can Andy explain things that she never speaks of out loud, things that she purposefully does not think about or even admit to?

But that’s a lie.

She thought about it yesterday, didn’t she? Yesterday, when Andy was dusting pictures and staring at her mother’s face, she thought about it. And the word stability; she thought about that too. She thought about why she needed it and how she finally got it. That word did not truly exist until she was just a little older than the twins. But how can she explain this? How can she tell them the _truth_? How can she tell them _why_? Why…to everything.

The answer is painfully simple. She can’t. Andy cannot say the words. She can’t do it. She can’t go there and might not _ever_ go there. Which only leaves her with one option: Andy is about to lie to three people that deserve it the least, and she is not going to cry about it later. She is not…

Feeling her spine turn into something made of twisted steel, Andy covers everything over with lies and smiles. Well, at least the first thing she says won’t be a lie.

“No, she’s not my step-mom. That’s my _mom_. Her name is Sheree.” she says to Cassidy, Caroline and Miranda because even though she’s not looking at Andy, Andy knows Miranda is listening to every single word of this. And she doesn’t even bother with the other question or statement, rather. Cassidy was pointing out a fact that does not need confirmation. They’re eleven, not two, and she’s not going to insult their intelligence.

It’s Caroline that really studies Andy’s face now; Cassidy’s more interested in the picture and Miranda is still looking out the window. “So…where’s your other mom?” Caroline asks with caution, such caution that it nearly breaks Andy. She never counted on Caroline reading her this well but somehow it feels like Caroline senses there is so much more information to be had than Andy can or will give them.

Since she can’t remember ever being out-right asked this kind of question, Andy scrambles for an answer that is anything but the truth. “Around…we don’t talk much.” For the second time in as many minutes, Andy almost breaks. The way Caroline is looking at her now, she knows she’s being lied to. Two minutes in and Caroline already knows so much… It’s written all over her little face.

By some miracle, Caroline let’s Andy off the hook, only asking questions about Hawaii for the rest of the ride to school. She and Cassidy have never been (they say this with plain old fashion bitterness) and with every _cool_ thing Andy tells them, the more they lament that fact.

Miranda completely ignores them. Andy figures she’s moved on inside her head and is now thinking of the hundred things she’ll ask everybody to do today. Which would be typical; or maybe Miranda simply realizes she’s been lied to as well and won’t have a thing to say about it in some sort of weird retaliation.

Or maybe Andy is just an idiot because as soon as both the girls are out of the car, the first words out of Miranda’s mouth are, “She’s right. In such conditions, sunscreen is never an option. You know better. Or you should.”

“Well,” Andy doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh, “I was too excited to worry about it. Especially that day.” Yes, especially that day. By the end, they’d hiked for miles, gone through two zip-lines and spent hours on the beach afterwards. Reapplying sunscreen was the last thing on her mind.

“You look very happy,” Miranda says, and that’s when Andy finally realizes that Miranda has her cell phone and is going through more of her pictures. “But what is all this car business?” She holds the phone up to show Andy a picture of another hybrid she’d been fascinated by at that same car-show in Las Vegas.

“I just like cars. I always have. Maybe I get it from my mom,” Andy nods to the current photo Miranda is holding. “She’s got a weird fascination with the interior design aspect. Probably because she’s so short; finding something comfortable isn’t as easy as you’d think.” And _this_ , this feels more comfortable than Andy thought it would five minutes ago. Talking to Miranda like _this_ , about _this_ (even though it’s all sunscreen and car shows) is more comfortable than it should be. In fact it’s dangerous...and it scares the crap out of her.  

“I’m sure feeling as if you’ve got sit on a phonebook to drive is quite unsettling,” Miranda says as she looks at the first good full length photo of them both together. Sheree is only five feet tall and Andy’s always figured a few inches of that was a total lie.

“Yeah,” Andy says, remembering the huge fight her mom and dad got into about the last SUV he wanted. “It’s not just the seats, though. She’s picky about the layout of the dashboard, too. And the technology. She likes gadgets. If the thing won’t talk to her—she won’t buy it.”

“My only concerns are good brakes, air conditioning…and…why are you over there? Come here.”

“Oh… Right,” Andy shakes her head. They’re half way to Elias-Clarke and Andy hasn’t moved to sit next to Miranda yet. Stupid. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, if you’d rather not—“

“I want to. Stop it.”

“Fine, then,” Miranda says with a sigh that’s full of relief as Andy slides close and their fingers lace together after Andy’s put her cellphone away. It’s not until they’re about to reach Runway that she speaks again and what comes out of Miranda’s mouth, finally causes a tiny piece of twisted steel to break away from her spine. “You weren’t lying to them, or to me.” Andy holds her breath and knows without a doubt that her body has just gone completely stiff. “It’s written all over your face, Andrea. You think you were, but you were not _lying_ ,” Miranda repeats. “Trust me… Some things take time to reveal, if at all. It’s not necessarily lying. It’s more like a line you’re not sure if you can cross. A line you’ve made that protects…or perhaps a wall. It’s hardly a sin to _not_ know what you should do about it. To be unable to speak… To be uncertain… It’s alright, Andrea.”

Without asking permission, that tiny piece of steel breaks off; thank God the rest remains intact. Andy cannot lose any more of it. If she does, she might not be able to pull herself together and there’s not time for that. A silly idea comes to her then and Andy wonders if this is what _Anakin_ felt like when they talked last night in her sleep.

There are a million things he doesn’t want to face and that’s part of his problem with Sybil. Professor Trelawney might be seen as a complete nutter by many, but the woman isn’t _stupid_. What’s worse is he probably _wants_ to tell her. Anakin probably wants to tell her every bad thing that’s gone on. And he probably hates it, that he feels like it would be safe enough, comfortable enough. Which, in turns, scares the hell out of him—just like it scares Andy.

And for Merlin’s sake—maybe Dumbledore knew all along that, yes, it was a mirror sort of situation…but maybe not one that involved Miranda—in _that_ way. In the way that Andy thought he meant. Maybe Andy was truly the one in the mirror.

And for _double_ Merlin’s sake, the fact that Andy is having this internal conversation with herself, like the bizarre dreams she has, are actually real, is…well, it’s less disturbing to her than it probably should be. Andy should probably be really worried about it, but it feels more like sanity than insanity so she doesn’t bother. Fuck it. It’s all crazy but if it gets her through the day, then who cares?

Nothing (by either of them) is said for the rest of the ride; Andy doesn’t know how to do anything else in those last quiet moments but grip Miranda’s hand like death is approaching. Miranda must sense it because she says not a single word about whatever pain it might be causing.

In fact, nothing is said by either of them (to each other, anyway) for the first half of the day. It’s not clear to Andy if this is what Miranda wants, or what she wants. Whatever the case may be, Andy is honestly fine with it. Nothing is wrong. It’s just another day, right?

Well, that’s not exactly the truth. Usually, ‘just another day’ would not include a semi-impatient email from Irv about those photographs she was supposed to email him or a few cryptic texts from Anna. Perhaps Andy should add those things to the list of what ‘just another day’ looks like, though.

In between rescheduling three meetings, two lunches, one run-through and finding room to add _another_ visit from Miranda’s divorce lawyer today, Andy sends Irv only fifteen pictures because she’s got to take a little time to explain each one; otherwise he might not understand what in the hell he’s looking at. And then, yes _then_ , she reads Anna’s text messages.

The first she sent says, _‘I hear that yesterday evening was interesting.’_

Hell… Andy wonders what exactly Anna is referring to. Which part? The part about Nate? Or the part about them making out? What does Miranda talk to her about? How much does Anna know?

But then, Andy reads the second message. It says, _‘Are you alright?’_

Andy sucks in a big breath of air. She knows. Anna knows about Nate. Miranda told her…and she’s concerned. Either that or she wants the gossip, like Nigel would, for his infamous rumor mill.   

Having no time at all to really give this the attentive worry that it probably deserves, Andy sends a reply, _‘I’m alright. She did what I couldn’t.’_

Anna texts her back immediately. _‘I expected nothing less from her.’_ And that’s that. What else can Andy say? Anna expected nothing less and neither did Andy because it’s entirely possible Miranda has been trying to take care of her for a longer than just a few days.

When it’s time to pick up Miranda’s lunch, Andy begs (seriously she almost gets down on her knees) Emily to go and get it. She cannot take another lunch-time showdown with dementors or live with running through blocks of traffic to witness absolute hell going on in the office again this week. She’d rather be around to stop the shit from coming in here in the first place. Ironically enough, this is what makes Miranda speak to her for the first time since they’ve been at work.

Miranda comes storming out of her office to go down the hall and probably chew someone out when she notices Emily is gone instead of Andy. It makes her stop dead in her tracks.

“What are you doing?” She asks in a ‘this is totally nothing personal, I swear’ kind of tone.

“Uh…I’m…” Andy pauses and looks at her computer where she’s sending ten emails at once and decides that’s a good enough answer. “I’m sending some emails. Do you need something? I’m sorry… I,” And what in the hell? Andy wants to kick herself. What is she apologizing for? And why can’t she form more than four word sentences? And why is her face hot? Oh. That’s right. Last night she’d decided she was screwed when it came to this place and Miranda, right? Yep. She had. _Great_. All Andy wants to do right now is kiss her BOSS until her BOSS cannot breathe. _Great_.

“Emily is getting lunch?” Miranda asks since Andy has apparently gone stupid.

“Yes,” is all Andy can say.

Without even looking to ensure that no one is around to hear this come out of her mouth, Miranda says, “Be sure to eat lunch. You skipped breakfast. _Again_. And you really shouldn’t. I don’t like that.”

Andy would like to point out that Miranda skipped breakfast too, this morning, but doesn’t. Not because she can’t form the words, mind you, but because her phone rings. Her cellphone…and it’s a ringtone that, like Miranda’s, Andy knows she cannot ignore.

Why can’t she ignore it? Well, it’s her mother and if there is one thing in the world Andy isn’t allowed to do (forget the fact that she’s an adult) is ignore her mother’s phone calls. The consequences of doing so are kind of like drawing that ‘Get Your Ass To Jail’ card in Monopoly. Expect the chance of freedom can’t be won back quite as easily.

As if she’s a trained robot (and in this she might as well be), Andy picks up her cellphone, all the while still looking at Miranda. Of course Miranda looks at her in disbelief because what could be more important than _her_ , right? Well, Miranda is about to find out.

Andy flips the phone open, says her customary ‘Hey, Mom.’ and instantly it’s like the door to Azkaban has been ripped right open.

“Just tell me one thing,” Sheree says (and pretty loudly). “Tell me Nate Cooper was _not_ at your apartment last night. Tell me that right _now_ so I don’t have to _kill_ him.”

“Fuck…”

“Oh, that’s fabulous. All the confirmation I need.”

And then there’s some squawking in the background. Oh, God…

“Is that Grandma?” Andy asks, cringing. She’s cringing from the look on Miranda’s face too. She can’t really read it. Not with certainty.

“It is!” Sheree yells or screeches…or something. “For some completely _idiotic_ reason—after Nate’s mother called to tell me her precious baby was choked by, and I quote, ‘ _some maniac_ ’ when all he was trying to do was visit you—I called your grandmother! Why? I don’t know, but I did. And what did _she_ do? Guess. Take a _guess_ , Andy.”

This was easy. Andy didn’t have to guess. But the fact that Miranda is still standing there (the look on her face is getting weirder and weirder by the second) is more than a little distracting.

“She drove over here!” Her mom yells into the phone again. “In her golf cart! Four blocks! With her baseball bat!”

Apparently, Andy took too long a time in guessing. And yeah…Miranda heard that, mouthing the question, ‘Baseball bat?’ to Andy with a smirk on her face.

“Why did she…uh…bring the bat?” Andy asks, trying not laugh. Not that this was funny. This is downright dangerous, actually. Now that her mother knows, this is for sure dangerous. Forget about her grandma and the baseball bat, this is plenty dangerous without either of those things being factored in.  But no matter what, Andy can just picture it. Her grandma in her little red golf cart…with a baseball bat. _Yikes_.

“Does it matter? The bigger problem is that she’s driving that thing on the street!”

“Well, that’s kinda what it’s for, Mom.”

“No! It isn’t!” Andy’s mom is still yelling and Miranda’s getting more wide eyed with every word. Thank God, Emily isn’t back yet. “It’s for when they go messing around in that RV. Not the _street_!”

“Okay, okay…”

“Right, you’ve distracted me enough. Now, about Nate?”

“Right…” Andy swallows hard, not knowing what to say.

Not knowing what to say turns into Sheree asking the most important question of all. One that Andy has purposefully not thought about this morning. “How did he find out where you live?”

Andy sits down. She can’t get into this standing up. “Lily,” she says quietly because for one, it breaks her heart; and two, her mother is about to come un-fucking-glued. “He said Lily told him.”

There’s nothing but silence for five seconds.

And then it comes. “So your cousin knows where you live?” That’s not really a question. Andy can just tell. “But how does she know? You don’t speak her.”

“No, Mom. I don’t talk to Lily. Remember, we talked about that?”

“Yes…” Sheree sounds like she might as well be on another planet. She’s putting the pieces together. She’s figuring out, just like Andy is in this same second, that there’s only one way Lily could know where she lives. From Lily’s mother, Sheree’s sister Makiba. And there’s only one way Makiba would have been able to find out—snooping around in their mother’s address book. It’s always by her recliner and she’s had it for decades. It’s right there…

Andy can just picture it. Her grandma, Ina, fills out Christmas cards sometimes three months in advance...and Makiba always helps her fill them out. Shit…

“Goddamn it,” Sheree whispers into the phone.

“Yep,” Andy sighs.

“I can’t tell her.” Meaning Ina. “But I can kill my sister.”

“When are you _not_ killing your sister?”

“Shut up,” her mom snaps at her which is no surprise. Her and Makiba have never, ever gotten along. Especially since Sheree married Andy’s dad and all this ‘mixing’ took place years ago. No…they don’t get along at all. “I can kill her as many times as it takes. The fact that she keeps _resurrecting_ herself, isn’t my problem. It just means I have to try harder next time. That’s all.”

That’s all… _Ha!_ Andy instantly needs a nap. And a long one because she _instantly_ knows what the next question will be.

“So, who’s this ‘maniac’ choking Nate? I’ve got to send them a Christmas card, or a million dollars. Although...I hate banks,” Sheree continues on like this is nothing. Actually, she’s probably just distracting herself from thinking about murdering her sister. “So they’ll probably have to settle for a card. Then again, I hate the post office, too…”

“Mom, it was Miranda.” Andy spits it out just get it over with and does _not_ look up from her desk. The sound of Miranda taking in a deep breath is enough to tell her everything. It’s not like she can do anything about it though. What could she have said? And surely Miranda isn’t pissed about this revelation. She really doesn’t have a right to be. 

“Priestly?”

“Yes.”

“I saw a little two second thing on the news about a robbery? Or your grandma did.”

“That’s true. There was. Everything’s fine now.”

Sheree says something afterwards but Andy misses it. The door swishes open and Emily bounds through it like a hurricane.

When she stops at the sight of Miranda standing at Andy’s desk like this is something she does on a regular basis, while Andy just chats away on her cellphone, Miranda jumps into action and runs Andy off to get coffee. Coffee that Miranda doesn’t need or want at this hour. Oh, well. It’ll have to do.

Without so much as a word, smile or nod, Andy runs and once she is out of range, the conversation is picked up where she left it. “Everything’s fine now. With the robbery and all…”

“Yes, you said that, Andy,” Sheree says with agitation. “And I said—what was she doing at your apartment. But I suppose I can guess. I raised you to recognize what’s needed. They’re alright now? That’s a nasty thing to go through. And all these home invasions nowadays…”

Andy’s mom is still talking. She’s talking about all kinds of things but Andy doesn’t hear a word of it. Her mind is back on Paris.

_Recognize what’s needed…_

_You can see beyond what people want, what they need, and you can choose for yourself…_

It’s damned good thing Roy was there at the door just milling around with nothing to do, otherwise she’d be on the ground right now. Instead, Andy’s ass is glued to the seat of the Mercedes like it’s never going anywhere else. _You can choose for yourself… What’s needed…_

Yeah, Sheree taught her that. She taught Andy how to see, pick and choose. Although, sometimes she chose badly, but they were always _her_ choices. Nobody ever made Andy choose. Not really. It always came down to her. That’s why she went to Paris—she chose to because she was already having panic attacks about not being near Miranda for a solid week. That’s why Nate left—she chose to let him because he wasn’t as important. That’s why she slept with Christian—she chose to because she was angry for caring so much. That’s why she turned back around—she chose to because the thought of leaving Miranda wasn’t something she could live with, even if she didn’t understand why.

She saw beyond _everything_ and chose for herself. She recognized what she needed…good or bad, and she did it.

Granted, she’s been a little fucked up because of it all, but she did it. Those were her choices. And while her father might (no, he always does) seriously question her thought process many times over, her mother has and will always be behind her and the choices she makes. _Always_.

With tears in her eyes that Andy will never admit to, she says “Mom, I’m in love with Miranda.” Yeah, she just blurts it out while Sheree is talking about who knows what. She puts it right out there for her mother, for the whole fucking universe to soak up, because that’s what she’s chosen. Andy has chosen Miranda and for some reason, she needs to tell her mother.

The first words out of her Sheree’s mouth are the most important. “Andy,” she says firmly, “You’ve never told me that about anybody. Not even Nate.”

“No,” Andy says with a shaky voice. “I haven’t. I’m not really good at that… I just can’t… I’m not good at it…”

“You’re great at it, honey,” Sheree’s voice is soft now. “I’m proof of that. You’re _great_ at it…it just has to be earned. Somebody has to earn your love and that’s tough to do, but there’s nothing wrong with you because of it, okay?”

“Okay…okay. You’re right.” Andy wipes her eyes and sits up straight. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. We’re not doing that. No apologies. None, you hear me? Never say that word to me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” her mom sighs and Andy does too. But really, this is not _good_. All this…today…this morning…is not good. “Now, if she’s earned it,” Sheree says, interrupting Andy’s downward spiral. “I’m confused, but happy. And you don’t have to explain. Nobody should ever have to explain why they love somebody.”

“I know. But I will… I mean I’ll tell you more. But later. I have work and stuff…and…”

“Andy, that’s fine. And this is between us right now, so no worries. Your father isn’t even here right now.”

And praise God, this makes Andy calm down and able to get her game-face back into place. “Work?”

“What else. Honestly, it’s a good thing because now he doesn’t bitch about you working so much, does he?” No he sure didn’t. Right after she got back from Paris, her dad was appointed a municipal court judge and the bitching about Runway instantly stopped. Richard got his dream and finally understood her. “And trust me,” Sheree continues. “I have plenty to do between work and Miss. Law-Breaking-Golf-Cart Lady over here…I’ve got _plenty_ to do.”

There’s some noise in the background after that, of course.

“Mom, I gotta go.”

“I know,” Sheree manages to say through the yelling going on. “Just call, text, email…send me a smoke-signal for all I care. If you need me—I’m right here. Remember that, Andy. I’m right here. Always. And get some rest, please. You sound like hell.”

“Gee, thanks. I love you, too.” Andy laughs as she ends the call, feeling loads better after hearing those words.

 She’s been reassured. Above all else, Andy has been reassured.

Her mother is still here.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thank you Makiba – that post-it note will ALWAYS be in my wallet. Thank Sis—for more than I can say…
> 
> Note for Guest Sue on FFnet who wanted me to name the other sources I use besides HP: Well, at first I did not understand what you meant because I do not imagine a world where Star Wars is not something in everyone’s lives. But since that is the case here – I will say that you could probably just watch Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope and be as informed as need be. But—to truly understand Anakin Skywalker and his journey, you should start with Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace. I have always believed that Anakin (aka Darth Vader) is an unsung hero and many times people out-right forget he is the true Chosen One; it is not his son Luke. Anakin certainly makes his way toward fulfilling the prophecy a devastating one, but in the end he redeems himself, rising above all things to achieve the intended goal—to bring balance to the Force. I encourage you to make good use of Google and rent some movies. Dedicate a weekend to learning. Trust me – you’ll enjoy it.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

At around nine o’clock that night, Nigel scares the crap out of her.

He blasts through the door, jerking Andy’s attention away from everything that does _not_ have to do with the fact that Miranda has been home for three hours. Her home. Not Andy’s apartment. All day (besides trying not to freak out about the fact that her mother knows about Nate and what that might mean), she’s been trying to unsuccessfully force herself to just work instead of be depressed or worried about so many things she really can’t control.

For her part, Miranda seemed unconcerned about it all. About phone call. About going home. About everything. Once Andy returned to work, the rest of the day went by in an absolute blur with nothing personal said between them. In fact, they were alone all of twice and the only things discussed were, “What’s next on the schedule,” and “If I don’t get coffee in four minutes I might kill someone.” Other than that, Miranda was silent and now that she’s gone home, all Andy can think about is—how is this supposed to work?

Yeah, she’s supposed to deliver the Book tonight, but what about after? Is she supposed to stay and hang out? Or go home? And if she goes home, are they going to call each other?

How, exactly, is this supposed to work?

“Six!” Nigel calls out as he comes in. And really, being so loud isn’t necessary. She’s right here, for God’s sake.

“Jesus, Nigel. I’m right here like always. Why are you screaming?”

Nigel drops the Book on her desk with a thud and then things get interesting. Why is he bringing her the Book? April from printing usually does that.

“Why do you have the Book?” She asks, since he hasn’t bothered to explain the screaming yet.

“Why?” He says, clearly flustered. “Why do I have it? I have it because Miranda has been blowing up my phone for the past thirty minutes wanting to know when it would be finished. That’s why.”

Huh? Andy looks at him dumbly.

“I love your idiot impression,” Nigel says, rubbing his forehead. “She’s freaking out or something.”

Andy’s heart rate skyrockets. “Freaking out?” Without realizing it, she’s already on her feet, hastily straightening her desk.

“Yes. Freaking out. She called me. _Me_. The Book isn’t even my thing! I fix the problems. April does the rest. And she’s probably going to kill me when I go back to my office! I can just picture it. She’ll be hiding behind the door or something.”

“Well?” Andy asks impatiently, not interested at all if April is going to kill him or not. “Did she say anything else? Miranda? Did she say anything else?”

“No, but she didn’t need to.”

And that stops her from everything. Forget her messy desk. Forget turning off the computer.

“I think she’s scared to be—“

“To be alone?” Andy finishes for him.

“You might not be such an idiot after all.”

No, she’s not an idiot. Besides everything else, this is what’s been so weird about today. Miranda has been weird all day. From the start… When they got to work she didn’t make a million demands right off the bat. And she wasn’t nasty to anybody all day; except to bitch about her coffee, Miranda was freakishly subdued. Which isn’t like her. At all.

And the twins. God, maybe Andy is an idiot. They called Miranda from school _three_ times today and that’s never happened. _Never_. Add that together with their tension from this morning while they were getting ready and packing…

They’re all scared.

“Fuck,” Andy mumbles under her breath as Nigel shakes his head.

“I think you’re needed for some serious damage control, Six. This might not be as easy to bounce back from as I thought. Better than anybody, I know how good Miranda is at putting on a show… And I think, around here anyway, it’s just been one big show.”

“You’re right. Miranda’s been weird all day. And honestly,” Andy shoves her way into her coat. “Nigel, she really won’t talk about any of this. I mean she will a little, but then she changes the subject. I feel like I don’t even know what’s really going on with everything. The investigation… Any of it.”

Before Andy can rush out the door, Nigel guides her by the elbow down the hall. “Slow down. You might need a bag.”

A bag? A bag… To stay. Right. He’s totally right. They’re not ready yet. And guess what, Andy’s not ready to spend the night alone either. Just thinking about the quiet and empty feeling that will greet her is heart wrenching.

In the Closet, Nigel tosses a few things into a larger handbag and puts together something for her to wear tomorrow. “So it went alright?” He asks as he goes over to their small selection of men’s wear and picks out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt for her to sleep in. Nigel knows her too well. “Them being there at your place?”

There’s nothing to do here but tell the truth. If he’s being this cool about things right now, Andy realizes it’s bound to be alright to let him in a little bit. Rumor Mill be damned.

“It was,” she sighs and leans against a shelf. “It was really great…”

Looking up from his work, Nigel smiles. “I thought it would be. She told me she enjoyed it, you know.”

“She did?” Andy can’t help but feel her face light up. “She said that?”

Nigel nods. “She did and I could tell by the look on her face when she mentioned it. In spite of the show Miranda’s been putting on, I knew that much was the truth. Although, she did say something about a ‘Man Cave’. What’s that all about?”

Andy rolls her eyes and takes the bags from him. “Shut up. I don’t live in a Man Cave. She’s full of bullshit.” Yeah, because having a television in every room of her apartment does not qualify as living in a freakin’ Man Cave!

“I see. Well, I suppose it cou—“

Andy’s cellphone dings with a text message and thinking it could be Miranda she digs it out of her handbag instantly, forgetting all about Nigel for just a minute.

And holy crap, it’s from Anna, mostly in all caps, causing Andy to momentarily stop breathing.

It says: _MIRANDA called to CHAT about WORK. Get over there NOW. Your JOB is not over yet!_

“Oh, my God…” Andy mumbles once she can breathe again. Miranda Priestly is calling Anna Wintour to _chat_ about _work_. Houston, we have a problem…

“What?” Nigel asks, looking worried.

Continuing to ignore him, Andy replies to the text, telling Anna that she’s already caught on. As usual there is nothing after that but Andy can’t say she’ll be surprised if she doesn’t hear from Anna tomorrow.

 “Nothing,” she says, finally paying attention to Nigel, shaking her head and rushing out of the Closet. “Let’s just say that was confirmation. I’ve got to get over there.”

Chasing after her, Nigel goes with her as far as the elevator. “Call if you need something. And try to get some rest. I know this isn’t the ideal situation right now, Six, but you look like you need a serious nap.”

“I had the same thought earlier today,”

Andy forces a laugh as the elevator door closes and his face disappears from view. Actually, she needs a hell of a lot more than a nap. She needs Miranda and the girls.

Just like Sunday night, there are a ton of things to do in the cab. To simply get it out of the way and avoid any weirdness in the morning, Andy calls Cara to let her know what’s going on.

To her surprise, Cara can’t thank her fast enough and in the background Leslie can clearly be heard asking twenty questions. That’s not appreciated, of course, and Cara halfway covers the phone to tell her, “Will you please shut the hell up. I’ll tell you as soon as I get off the phone!”

They keep on for a minute or two and as Andy watches the nighttime scenery outside the cab window go by, she can’t help wonder if Captain Janeway and Seven ever argued like this? Then Andy realizes she’ll find out soon enough. A Voyager marathon is surely to be in her future. It’ll probably bore her to tears, but there won’t be any getting out of it. Miranda would probably strap her to the couch before she let Andy skip such a blessed event.

After Cara decides to stop giving Leslie a ton of unnecessary grief, she comes back to the real conversation and fills Andy in on a few things that Miranda has neglected to tell her. As it turns out, every time Miranda and the girls have visited the townhouse this week, it’s been beyond tense.

The girls have drilled Darren to the point of madness about the new security system and he’s showed them everything that’s been done about a million times. And as excited as they’ve been to get have their bedrooms made over, Caroline and Cassidy have spent all of two seconds inspecting the empty spaces after Cara cleaned up all the mess.

Miranda, however, has walked throughout the entire house countless times. Cara thinks the carpet is going to wear out on the stairs soon and couldn’t be more agitated about it. She’s drilled Darren too, of course, just not a million times.

Once she manages to get off the phone with Cara (she doesn’t seem to want to shut up), Andy bravely calls Henley. At this end of things, there’s not much news to be had. Even if she didn’t go into great detail, Miranda has in fact told Andy all there is to know from the detective—which is _still_ a whole lot of nothing. Besides finding the clothes and photographs in a dumpster across town, that’s all there is and Andy gets the distinct feeling Henley doesn’t have a lot of hope, sadly, and it’s a no-brainer that even with Miranda’s connections, all the extra attention to this case cannot last forever. Eventually, they’ll all have to move on to other things.

When the cab comes to a stop at the doorstep of townhouse, Andy groans. There aren’t any police cars in sight but it looks like every damn light in the house is on, meaning nobody is asleep. _Nobody_.

And she’s right.

As soon as she opens the door with the new key Darren slipped in her bag the other day, there’s Cassidy and at first Andy loses the ability to speak. The look on the little girl’s face isn’t just surprising, it’s downright shocking.

Cassidy couldn’t have possibly thought Andy _wouldn’t_ bring the Book tonight, but her eyes tell a completely story. Like Miranda on Sunday night, she seems in disbelief that Andy is here at all and with all these bags in her hands, too. Cassidy knows Miranda doesn’t currently have a bunch of dry-cleaning to be picked up. It all got dropped off today and won’t be ready until tomorrow. So all these bags are obviously Andy’s and Cassidy knows what that means, clearly struggling with choosing the right words, to say nothing of emotions. And speaking of emotions, Cassidy is a ball of nerves; not just from the situation, but because of Miranda and Caroline. That she feeds off of Caroline is a given but it’s plain to see that Cassidy feeds off of Miranda’s emotions also. And there’s plenty to feel. Andy can sense the tension even though Miranda and Caroline are nowhere in sight.

Without a word of true acknowledgement, Cassidy is the first to speak.

“You have to put in the code,” she says, moving toward the new panel by the front door. “The cops will be here in like two seconds if you don’t. Or at least that’s what Darren said.”

Duh. Andy feels stupid. For a moment she’d forgotten all about that.

Cassidy quickly punches in the numbers before Andy can even get a good look but she can at least tell that it’s not the same set. Of course they would have changed it.

“So, what’s the new number?” Andy asks her, still holding the Book and all her bags.

Cassidy tells her the number and it makes no sense at all. The old one was their birthday but this set of numbers seems completely random.

“Who came up with that?”

“We did,” Cassidy mumbles as she turns and trails off toward the kitchen.

Quickly, Andy dumps her coat and bags on the floor (except for the Book; she’s not that stupid) and goes after her.

And what in the _hell_ is going on in here? There are cookies everywhere. Homemade oatmeal cookies are lining practically every counter. More are in the oven and a timer goes off, as if on cue, and Cassidy (who is barefoot and dressed in an oversized t-shirt with a Star Trek logo front and center) puts on mittens with a great air of authority and takes the cookies out of the oven. It’s like baking at ten o’clock at night is a totally normal thing for her and maybe it is. Andy knows she really shouldn’t be surprised by anything Cassidy does.

Once she has the cookie sheet set down and the oven is turned off, Cassidy finally bothers to answer Andy’s question.

“We got it from Nana…or I guess you would say our grandmother.”

“You’re dad’s mom?” Andy asks as she takes a cookie without thinking twice. She’s starving.

Cassidy looks at her like she’s stupid. “No. We don’t even _like_ her. Nana is Mom’s mom…but she’s dead now so…whatever.”

 _Ah_. Halina. Well, this should be interesting.

Looking up from her cookies (she’s sliding each one onto a gigantic plate like a pro), Cassidy gives her the real answer. She doesn’t exactly explain, mind you, but Andy gets it and by the look on her face, Cassidy instantly figures out that Andy knows a big, big _secret_.

“It was her number,” Cassidy says with caution. “It’s easy to remember.”

Really, nothing else needs to be said. Not tonight anyway. It’s easy to remember because it was terrifying and permanent and it’s unlikely that Halina ever bothered to hide it. Hiding anything at all just doesn’t seem to fit what little Andy knows about her.

Andy comes around the counter then and takes Cassidy by complete surprise, picking her up and setting her on a bar stool.

“Gosh, you’re heavy,” she huffs and outright lies. Cassidy giggles and just for a second, at least, the tension in her eyes goes away. “I know about your Nana.” Andy says softly and kisses Cassidy’s forehead. “You don’t have to explain but you better write it the number down for me just in case. Okay?”

Cassidy takes a deep breath and more tension slips away. “Okay,” she whispers and looks down at the floor. “I’ll write it down. Are you staying?”

Andy puts a finger under Cassidy’s chin and lifts her head. “Where is everybody?” She asks instead of giving a confirmation.

“Upstairs,” Cassidy sighs and in an instant all the tension is back. She’s feeling everyone all over again. “Mom is being so quiet and Caroline is scaring me. She’s not crying, but she’s scaring me. It feels awful. I don’t like it when they don’t feel right. It hurts.”

Well, that’s probably about as good as Cassidy will ever be able to explain what it’s like to be a twin.

“Don’t tell anybody…but I’m scared too,” she continues, whispering again. “This house is _really_ big.”

Andy smiles to cover up how much this is breaking her heart and hugs Cassidy tightly. “Well, guess what,” she says, “I’m kinda scared too. To be at my apartment.”

With a gasp, Cassidy pulls away and looks at Andy, wide eyed. “What’s the matter with your apartment?”

“Nothing,” Andy laughs. “It’s fine, but I’m just used to you guys being there. Don’t tell anybody, but I really don’t want to sleep there tonight. Is it okay if I stay over?”

“Oh! Yeah, totally!” Cassidy jumps down off the bar stool like her fears and worries are nothing now since Andy needs them too. “You shouldn’t be by yourself and this way the house won’t seem so big. Or…or we could go to your apartment!”

“No, no,” Andy shakes her head and starts in on another cookie. “I hate to tell you this but you’ve all got to get used to being here by yourselves. I’ve got to get used to it too…it might just take a little time.”

Cassidy’s happy little smile slides away. “You’re right I guess. But you’re staying tonight? You promise?”

“Uh huh,” Andy mumbles in between bites. These cookies really are the bomb. “I sure am. And I might for a little longer. I have a plan, just gotta talk to your mom first.”

And that brings the smile back.

In silence, Andy watches as Cassidy digs a tray out from a cabinet and piles it high with cookies and glasses full of milk. Four glasses…

“You have to carry this for me,” Cassidy says, very seriously. “It’s too heavy and if I drop it Cara will be really mad.”

“Agreed.”

Carrying the tray like it’s the most important mission she’s  ever been asked to accomplish, Andy dutifully follows Cassidy up the stairs. Halfway there, she asks, “Mind telling me what all this baking business is about?”

“Emotions,” Cassidy turns to her and rolls her eyes like this is something Andy should damn well know already. “Emotional issues require cookies. _Always_. Don’t you know that? And we’re out of Oreos so I had to do something.” And then, like a total grownup, Cassidy says, “I can’t take the stress and I’m too young for pills!”

Andy can’t even open her mouth to reply. She’s laughing too hard. Cookies for your emotions?

Actually that makes perfect sense.

Just about the time she’s stopped laughing, they’re in (of all the places they could have gone to in this enormous house) Miranda’s bedroom. Immediately, Andy is insanely jealous. Miranda’s television in here is bigger than hers. Damn it. But there are much better things to concentrate on besides jealousy.

Miranda and Caroline are sitting in the middle of the bed and when they see her (and maybe it’s the cookies, too) their faces light up. They’re happy to see her. Thank God, they’re happy to see her.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” Miranda says. She’s not smiling, but her eyes are still lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Well, I had to pack a bag…and carrying all this,” Andy nods toward the cookies as she carefully places the tray on the bed, “was quite a taxing job.”

“Oh, yes,” Miranda says lightly. “I’m sure you’re just exhausted. And…pack a bag?”

“Yeah. Pack a bag.” Andy sits down on the edge of the bed. Both of the girls are shoveling cookies into their mouths and their attention is completely focused on the television now. And yeah, Voyager is on. Surprise, surprise. Looking down for a second in a sudden fit of insecurity, Andy finally looks back up and lays it all out.

“I figured you might be a little nervous about staying by yourself tonight. You know…the first time and all.”

Miranda, of course, shrugs, trying hard to look indifferent. It doesn’t work; Andy sees right through her but in order to help Miranda save face, Andy turns the situation around slightly.

“I’m nervous too. I got used to you all being around. I probably wouldn’t sleep at all tonight if I was alone.”

Just like Cassidy, Miranda instantly gravitates toward the idea of Andy being the one in serious need of comfort. “Of course you can stay,” Miranda says this like she can’t get the words out fast enough. “That’s perfectly fine. Perfectly…”

That’s all it takes and everything feels safe again. They’re all together and everything will be fine.

Since that’s the case, Andy hauls her bags upstairs (along with the Book) and takes a quick shower in the guest bathroom. Half the cookies are gone by the time she’s done but Andy manages to steal a few before Miranda takes it all away to the kitchen. It’s hard, but Andy doesn’t say a single word about Miranda’s t-shirt. Apparently, it’s a Star Trek theme night around here because Caroline’s got on one too.

Once they come to an agreement, the girls fall asleep between them in no time. Tomorrow night Caroline and Cassidy will try to sleep in one of their own rooms upstairs, then Friday night they’ll try for separate beds altogether. Neither Andy or Miranda mention where _she_ might be sleeping tomorrow night or the next, but it’s implied that she will be _somewhere_ in this house. Caroline and Cassidy make a firm statement of, “You really shouldn’t be by yourself this week,” and that’s that.

Andy isn’t going anywhere this week.

Miranda remains propped up against a mountain of pillows, with television turned down low, and starts in on the Book as soon as the twins fall asleep. Meanwhile, Andy buries herself under the covers and tries to make sense of all this Voyager stuff. That doesn’t last long, though. Pretty soon her eyes are closing and just before she falls asleep, Andy remembers the dream from last night. That couch in the Gryffindor common room...

Even though the circumstances are drastically different, Miranda was right. Andy is in her bed much sooner than she anticipated.

 

TO BE CONTINUED


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

 

When Andy wakes up, at first she’s not quite sure where the hell she’s at, or if she’s truly awake at all. First: the room is pitch-black and it feels early. Too early. Second: this is not her bed, that’s for sure, and this is definitely not her pillow. At least she’s in a bed. That’s something to get excited about since Andy has woken up on the floor one too many times recently. And the pillow isn’t so bad. In fact, it smells just like… _Oh._

She’s in Miranda’s bed.

Reaching with her left hand, Andy feels around in the darkness and realizes that Caroline and Cassidy aren’t there. She’s not sure if they have a stockpile of cereal to go through downstairs or if Cara is already here making them something uber-healthy for breakfast, but whatever they’re doing—they are not in this bed and right now, that’s a blessing. 

“They’re downstairs,” Miranda says before Andy can even move closer like she was about to.

“What time is it?” Andy asks, mid-yawn, and scoots toward Miranda.

“Nearly four-thirty.” Miranda says this like she can’t believe it herself. “Cara got here just a while ago. They heard her come in…”

The way Miranda’s voice trails off at the end, tells Andy that it scared them. All of them. Now that they’re home (even though Andy is here), sleeping through even the slightest noise is impossible. There’s no way she’s going to confront Miranda about it, though, so she chooses to pull her by the hand.

“Come here.” Andy says, tugging at Miranda.

Miranda pulls back, causing Andy’s heart to sink just a little. Everything can’t always go her way, right? Honestly, going back and forth with Miranda’s reaction on the invasion of personal space might be something Andy’s got to get used to. Then again, as usual, Andy is wrong. Maybe she should stop jumping ahead to the worst where Miranda’s feelings toward her are concerned? Yeah, that’d probably be a good idea. Starting today.

“ _No_ ,” Miranda says as Andy pulls at her one more time, just for the sake of trying again. She sounds too serious for such an early morning. Then, in the blink of an eye, all Miranda’s seriousness turns into hesitation. “I want to try,” she says. “I just want to…try…”

Miranda pauses to huff in frustration and it’s hard for Andy to allow her to finish, but she manages it, knowing Miranda simply needs time to figure out how to say whatever it she wants to say.

Eventually, Miranda gives up on herself and simply says, “Will you just come here, please.”

A split second later, Andy realizes what it is that Miranda is so frustrated about—yet so eager to try. She wants to hold Andy and that’s not only a small step for her, it’s a giant leap, too. Who can imagine Miranda holding anybody like this but her kids? Until very, very recently, not even Andy could picture that.  

 “I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?” Miranda asks as Andy settles into her arms. She’s full of tension, that’s easily felt, but Andy’s confident that’ll go away in about two seconds.

With an arm slung across Miranda’s stomach, Andy hugs her. “There’s never going to be a wrong way for you to hold me, Miranda. Relax, okay?”

She does, but it takes longer than the two seconds Andy was hoping for. “I’ve never done this before,” Miranda says, as a little of tension falls away. “So I just wanted to make sure…”

“Miranda,” Andy sighs, “Relax. Please, relax. I’ll say, your uncertainty is really cute, though.”

And that is the dumbest thing she could ever say. _Your uncertainty is really cute?_ What the hell… Miranda will dump her on the floor in seconds, no doubt.

Ending up on the floor is not what happens though. Ironically enough, Miranda takes her advice and Andy feels arms encircle her tightly as the body beneath hers sinks into the bed. “This is what I wanted Friday night,” Miranda says, kissing Andy’s forehead. “I’m insane… But this is what I wanted.”

“You’re not insane, “ Andy laughs. “But just how in the heck did you plan on managing that? If you don’t mind me asking.” Because really, how did Miranda think that was supposed to work? And hello… This is all the confirmation Andy needs. Miranda was _not_ talking about her guest bedroom when she called Andy on Saturday morning. Definitely not. 

“I have no idea,” Miranda replies, sounding annoyed.

“So you just thought I’d jump into bed with you?” Andy asks, not about to let Miranda’s annoyance to stop her from getting an answer.

“No.” Miranda says slowly, drawing it out in that soft, lethal way that usually inspires fear. Except being in Miranda’s bed…nope, it doesn’t inspire fear at all. It just turns Andy on. “I thought you’d either pass out, or run, actually,” Miranda finishes.

Sadly, Andy’s got to admit Miranda’s correct on both counts. “I probably would have done both those things,” she whispers in Miranda’s ear and can’t miss the slight shiver that runs through both of them. “I never… I never allowed myself to think about you like that, Miranda. Until Saturday, when you called. I ran into a crate of oranges, you know.”

“You never told me that. And as I said before, that wasn’t…right. To imply. Over the phone. It wasn’t what I…”

“Uh, yeah it was,” Andy interrupts. “Sorry to tell you, but it was. I already told you that it _didn’t_ come out wrong. I told you that.”

“It took me a long time to figure it out,” Miranda says, sort of changing the subject. Or maybe not. “But then it wouldn’t go away. And you…wouldn’t go away.”

Something freezes inside Andy as Miranda says those words. _You wouldn’t go away._ The truth is right on the tip of Andy’s tongue. She almost did. She thought about it, and hard too. She thought about running. She thought about dumping her cellphone in that fountain and never turning back. Andy decided to stay though, making the better choice, thank God. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be in Miranda’s arms right now. But even so, she thought about it. And Miranda doesn’t know.

Well, she can’t tell her. Andy knows that right away. Even if she should, she can’t do it. Not today at least. Not here in this bed.

To turn the topic back toward anything that doesn’t have to do with her possible cowardice, Andy decides to tell Miranda she’s doing a great job at all this ‘holding’ business.

“This feels really nice. Don’t you think? I’m very comfortable.”

“I do. I am.” Miranda clears her throat. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Andy asks, perplexed. Did Miranda think she’d have said _no_ earlier?

“For staying the night. For this…letting me try. For a lot of things, Andrea.”

All this thankfulness from Miranda only does one thing: It makes Andy insanely brave and stupid. Since that’s the case, she says, “Well, you can try anything you want,” with big smile on her face that Miranda can’t even see.

Apparently, Andy’s been so brave and stupid that Miranda can’t find enough words to string together for a comment. She can move though, and does, rolling Andy onto her back in a split second. Gasping in surprise and laughing hysterically (but quietly) she tries to push Miranda back, which doesn’t work.

“As I recall,” Miranda whispers, “It was you that wanted to have your way with me on the kitchen floor. Was it not?”

“Oh, that was me,” Andy says, feeling like she’s burning up when her hands instinctively find their way to Miranda’s hips, and when Miranda’s right knee finds its way between Andy’s legs, it just gets worse. “Yeah.” Andy swallows hard; the bed must be on fire. “Kitchen floor. That was me.”

Miranda hums and even though Andy can’t see her (there’s got to be blackout curtains in here) she imagines Miranda’s eyes are a bit darker now. Come to think of it, Miranda’s eyes have always turned a shade or two darker when she looks at Andy for more than a few seconds at a time.

“You say you never allowed yourself to think of me like _that,_ until Saturday?”

“Yeah.” Andy swallows hard against a moan.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about you like _that_ for quite a while.” She pauses and Andy starts to say something about how ‘that’s nice’ or _something_ , but is cut off. “Andrea,” Miranda says, running a hand down Andy’s side. “Holding you might have been a mistake this morning. Because now I want more. I’ve always wanted more. Even Friday night, holding you wasn’t all I wanted.”

“That doesn’t really sound like a _mistake_ to me because I want more.” Andy says and without a second thought, she chooses to do something that isn’t practical or even right; dangerous is all this is. Giving Miranda what she wanted on Friday night, right _now_ , so early in their relationship is just dangerous.

But Andy doesn’t care.

Miranda is so distracted by what Andy’s said that it’s hardly any work to push back enough so she can sit up.

“What are you…” Miranda tries to ask, but shuts up as soon as Andy rips her own t-shirt off. And no, she doesn’t have anything on underneath.

Andy never tells Miranda what she’s doing. Andy never asks Miranda if this is what she wants, either, since she knows that it is. Asking is a waste of time and Andy can’t wait or worry about how fast is too fast or if they’re jumping ten levels ahead (duh, they are). In fact, judging by the fact she’s prepared to testify in court that she can hear Miranda’s heartbeat, and by the way Miranda is clawing at Andy’s boxers all of the sudden, moving too fast and jumping levels doesn’t seem to be a concern for either one of them.

Once Miranda frees her of her boxers and is kissing her hard, like she can’t kiss her hard enough, Andy realizes just how long she’s been denying herself these kinds of thoughts…images. Well, that’s all over now. But as far as images go… The room is completely dark. She can’t see a thing. But she can _feel_ , and that’s more than enough. It heightens everything, really, causing Andy’s imagination to run wild trying to combine how Miranda’s hands feel (they burn and sooth her skin at the same time) and what this looks like. Them. Together in bed. Doing this.

As the saying goes: If this is wrong, then she doesn’t want to be right.

Surprisingly, Andy can’t make the slightest sound when Miranda starts to slide in and out of her, almost immediately, like she’ll find Andy’s soul if she tries hard enough. She wants to scream but it just gets swallowed up in complete wonder at what is happening. She can only let her movements convey what her voice cannot, digging into Miranda’s back with her nails (if Andy could only think clearly enough to get Miranda’s shirt off); digging into the bed with her heels to gain a little momentum as she becomes a wave of emotion and pleasure that can only be controlled by Miranda; not holding anything back, letting Miranda have whatever she commands.  She has the right, after all. Miranda’s had all the rights, all along, and didn’t even know.

Miranda, on the other hand, buries her face in Andy’s neck and into the pillow at times to keep from letting any noise escape. And she’ holding back. It’s hard to believe, but even though her senses are positively overloaded, Andy can tell Miranda is holding back. Maybe it’s because this is yet another step, a veritable leap, for Miranda into an unknown place she never thought she could go. Or maybe it’s because Miranda just doesn’t want to actually tear Andy apart; that would certainly fit the situation since she’s so close to it anyway. Andy’s heart is pounding in her ears; she’s never been this open yet filled at the same time; she’s never been wanted, fucked, not to mention loved like this and this isn’t all she could be, because Miranda is holding back.

The idea that Miranda will likely be a wild and untamed predator when the chance arrives, takes hold in Andy’s mind as she clutches at Miranda’s shoulders and back and runs her hands through Miranda’s hair all at once.

This wave of emotion and pleasure that is now Andy, reaches a new height when Miranda (still in a complete yet restrained frenzy) curls her hand just enough to add another finger. The fourth… All the air leaves Andy’s lungs and Miranda finally allows a sound to be made, a hissing sound as Andy’s nails dig into her back again. And then…

“Oh, my God,” Miranda groans, her mouth moving over Andy’s skin. Her face, neck, and now her breasts. How she’s managing it, Andy doesn’t know because they’re pressed so, so tightly together; but Miranda’s definitely managing to devour her not just with her hand (that’s moving at a slower, more glacial pace now), but with her mouth. She’s crying too, quiet tears, becoming a wave of emotion; Andy can feel them on her chest. They burn and sooth at the same time, like Miranda’s hands, and not just her skin, but every part of Andy. She might be physically holding back, but Miranda isn’t holding back emotionally.

That’s more important than anything else.

When Miranda lays her head down, pressing her face into the center of Andy’s chest, something unexpected happens. She’s always heard of the concept ‘just when I thought I couldn’t love you more’, but never experienced it. Granted, it is incredibly early in their relationship, but this still takes her by surprise because that’s exactly how Andy feels right now. Such a simple gesture…and it’s like everything has been elevated between them once again. In an instant, her love for Miranda shatters and grows into something else entirely.

Cradling Miranda’s head in her arms, Andy has to nearly bite her bottom lip off as she comes. It’s slow but so hard; she feels every bit of Miranda’s hand inside her and it’s got to hurt. Or, from the sound Miranda makes against Andy’s chest, it feels too damn good for Miranda to care about any pain that might accompany it. And it doesn’t stop, lingering on and on…and then Miranda slides her fingers out…and back in…

She’s not sure how it’s even possible, but Andy comes harder now than the first time only moments ago. Miranda has to lean up and put a hand over her mouth and with every pulse of her body, Andy’s lungs beg for air and everything is so dark. Even if all the lights in the world were on, she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

“Don’t,” Miranda whispers as everything calms down eventually and Andy is able to breathe again.

 _Let go_ , are the other words that Miranda doesn’t say but Andy doesn’t bother to finish for her like she often does at Runway, making the better choice to roll slowly to her side, bringing Miranda with her. With a leg draped over Miranda’s hip and an arm under Miranda’s head, Andy keeps her close.

And just be to be sure she won’t, Andy says, “Don’t move your hand.”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Miranda says. Then, “But please don’t say this was a mistake…too soon,” finishing in a tone that reminds Andy of her kitchen, that icy Death Star and the way Miranda was more than ready to accept _not_ being loved in return.

“You’ll never hear that come out of my mouth, Miranda. Never. I love you so much.” Andy kisses her gently then says, “Please tell me you believe me.”

“I do,” Miranda says right away, making Andy’s heart ache with joy. “I believe you, Andrea. However, I’m not sure why you do. It’s not as if I’m wor—“

Oh, hell no.

“Stop,” Andy says, cutting Miranda off immediately because this is just Greg talking and she won’t stand for that. Not here in the bed. Not like this. Then again, what the hell is she supposed to say besides to reiterate that she _does_ love Miranda, and that she’s completely worthy of it? Andy can’t explain why she does; only that she _does_. Period. But knowing Miranda, she needs to hear some sort of justification. _Shit_. “You’re worth every ounce of love I have,” Andy says, hoping that what she’s about to say will be enough. “I’ve never known how to love somebody like this, Miranda. But I think I know how to love you, and I think you know how to love me. Even if it’s not easy all the time, I have to have you. So you’re just going to have to figure out how to live with being worthy. You really don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t?” Miranda says and there’s curiosity right at the edge of her words.

“ _No_.” Andy’s reply is stern because there’s no other way to be. She _will_ have Miranda, so what’s the point in saying otherwise? “I have to have you,” she repeats. “I know you think the opposite is true, but sometimes you really don’t have choices.”

“And this is one of those times?”

“Absolutely,” Andy says, firmly.

“What if I said you don’t have a choice, either?”

“I already know that.”

“Oh?”

“I’m ahead of the curve here.”

“Yes, I found that out when you threw your t-shirt across the room.”

For a split second there is silence then laughter from both of them. Minutes go by, then, where nothing is said; they just kiss each other until it’s impossible to breathe.

When they take a break for air, Miranda slowly and gently removes her hand finally and rests is on Andy’s lower back, pulling her closer. It’s wet and hot but makes Andy shiver in anticipation for more… And she hasn’t had Miranda yet. What time is it?

She doesn’t care.

Reading her mind, Miranda says, “I want you to touch me,” which drives Andy right out of her mind and she starts to do that very thing. But only seconds from getting Miranda’s shirt off, she says, “No.” pushing Andy’s hand away. Mixed signals start going off all over the place. But, thank God, Andy gets an explanation that she can live with. “I won’t be able to stop, Andrea. I’m sorry but I won’t. If you touch me now… I’ve wanted this for too long. I’d beg for… And there isn’t time to…”

Miranda continues to try to explain in broken sentences and Andy tries like hell to listen and get these new images in her head under control. She needs her. Miranda needs her. Badly. So much so that it’s going to take an entire night to satisfy her; Andy can just picture it. She’s wanted this for too long.

Okay, now Andy’s really screwed because all she can think about is, well, satisfying Miranda beyond anything she’s been able to dream up in that beautiful little head of hers. But finally, she’s able to speak.

“Shhh,” she quiets Miranda. “When there’s time,” Andy says, rolling on top of Miranda to torture them both just a little bit, “I’ll take care of you, Miranda. When there’s more time, you’ll feel so good when I’m done with you. And I’ll just start all over again.”

“I guess I don’t have a choice in that either. Do I?” Miranda says, pulling Andy against her hard, torturing them both just a little bit more. “Not that I want a choice, actually.”

“No. You don’t have a choice.”

To torture Miranda just a little bit _more_ , Andy rolls her hips forward and teases Miranda’s bottom lip with her tongue, making a slow game of kissing her.

But then it happens. The phone rings. Not Miranda’s cell phone. But the house phone.

“Oh, what the hell?” Miranda mutters as Andy moves off of her so she can reach for the phone. Even Andy knows that Miranda’s house phone ringing this early in the morning can’t be a good thing. And it isn’t.

The person on the other end of the phone is one of the girls’ classmates. At six o’clock in the damn morning, one of their classmates is calling the house? Do little kids not sleep late anymore? What is the deal with that? But anyway, it’s a classmate named Erin, a girl Miranda must know because the first words out of her mouth after ‘hello’ is said, are, “Erin, what’s the matter, darling? Why are you at school so early?”

So, Miranda can be nice on the phone to other people? That’s a head spinning moment for sure. But then Miranda turns the light on by the bed and talk about head spinning—she’s gorgeous. Her hair is all over the place; her clothes are wrinkled and twisted every which way and she looks like she’s been kissed to death! Not to mention the evidence of tears, tears that are about something far better than any in Paris. Jesus, why does this have to end? Why can’t they stay in bed all day? Why does a new day even have to start? Why?

The answer to all those questions is simply: Stop being stupid, Andy.

When Miranda stands up and puts her robe on in lightning speed, it’s even clearer that something is wrong so Andy stops pouting and gets out of bed too, taking the gigantic sheet with her. When Miranda goes completely ridged, standing absolutely still, Andy _really_ forgets about pouting and begins to panic. Yeah…something is wrong. What the fuck?

“I see,” Miranda says in the same tone she uses when a minion has royally fucked something up at work. “And you’re sure? Without a doubt? A single one?” There is a brief pause, then, “I will have the girls call you in five minutes…or less. Not a minute more, alright?”

Miranda doesn’t say a thing after shutting off the phone and throwing it down, retreating to the bathroom instead, so Andy follows her. She chooses not to interrupt her, however. By the way Miranda washes her hands, her face and brushes her teeth; it just doesn’t feel like a safe thing to do.

Miranda is _pissed_.

Before all hell breaks loose(at least that’s what Andy thinks is about to happen), Miranda turns around on her way out the bedroom door and looks Andy up and down just like she does every day.

Andy can’t help but blush and hold the sheet tightly around her because one: she’s only in a _sheet_ , and two: this is just…well, it makes her hot all over.

Walking toward her like the predator Andy knows is just waiting to come out, Miranda kisses her hard and says, or growls honestly, “I’m sure it’s a sin to look that good in nothing but a sheet, Andrea. And don’t think for a second that I’m not _severely_ inclined to rid you of it… “ Up until now, Miranda’s just looked pissed off and ready to choke somebody but now, all of the sudden, she looks remorseful and even worried. “But the children co—“

“Come first,” Andy finishes for her because really, they do. Why wouldn’t they? “They come first,” Andy repeats, cupping the back of Miranda’s neck, pulling her back in. “They come first and always will.”

With one last kiss that’s much softer this time, Miranda leaves the room, closing the door behind her, looking sexier than should be legal. Andy distracts herself from illegal thoughts by searching for her t-shirt and shorts (she trips twice anyway and falls flat on her face both times) then rushes to be presentable enough to at least go across the hall to where her bags are.

She doesn’t make it across the hall just yet.

Cassidy is on the phone with Erin. She’s downstairs, but is quickly making her way _up_ the stairs, and loudly too.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” she yells into the phone. “Are you sure?” she asks, just as Miranda had except she doesn’t sound angry. She sounds like the world is crashing down around her.

Something else is said that Andy can’t make out because Cassidy is running up the stairs now and the noise covers her voice, but only to a point because when she’s obviously hung up, Cassidy starts yelling for Caroline.

Only, she doesn’t call her sister _Caroline_. She calls her sister Carol…or is it _Karol_? What is she actually hearing?

Andy’s head spins for a second… _twins_ …all she can see are Halina and her brother twin brother Karol. She’ll never see a picture of them both as children, or a picture of Karol period, most likely, but still…Andy suddenly has a very clear idea of them in her head. And was that on purpose? Naming her _Caroline_?

Her head is still spinning but Andy forces herself to move, to get a shower, to get dressed and ready because today will be different than any other. She knows this with certainty. It’ll be different because she’s scared to death for whatever is going on with the girls. Nate, Stephen, Greg and so many other people just don’t matter anymore. The time she’s just spent with Miranda and the many, many things they still need to talk about, doesn’t even matter. There is only one thing (two, really) that matters. The girls. Carol… _Caroline_ and Cassidy. They’re _all_ that will ever truly matter.

When her feet hit the bottom step and she turns toward the kitchen, toward the sound of their voices, a hundred images run through her mind, catching her off guard and that’s when it hits Andy: This is probably how Sheree felt a long time ago—completely taken by surprise.

You go on through your day, your life, and so many other things are _so_ damned important. Everything is always _something_ that matters more than the last _something_ you cared about. Then that stops. In the blink of an eye you’ve still got things that are important and that matter—like a career that takes you all over the world constantly—but those thing don’t matter quite as much as they used to, and you’re able to drop each and every one of them for _your_ child.

Yes, this has to be just like what it was for Sheree; that day she chose _not_ to go to England for weeks to give lectures about who can remember what.  All because of what it would have meant at that particular time to Andy, who could hardly believe Sheree was even _in_ her life, much less deal with her _leaving_ , even if it was temporary.

Because to Andy, at that point in her childhood, nothing was temporary, someone leaving was never temporary. And suddenly, nothing else mattered to Sheree. When Andy got out of school that day, instead of a repeat of that _someone_ not being there, Sheree was. She was right there waiting because Andy was more important than anything else, and she doesn’t need to make a phone call to confirm that this is _it_.

Today, no one will be aware of this fact, but Andy Sachs has just become a parent. In the blink of an eye, without anyone’s consent or even her own, she’s become a parent.

 

TBC


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

 

When Andy makes it to the kitchen, Cara is nowhere in sight, probably out walking Patricia. Miranda and Cassidy are sitting at the bar, while Caroline paces in front of them. She’s on the phone with Erin now, but she’s not saying much. Apparently Erin is doing all the talking. In fact, Andy can hear her through the phone. She sounds devastated.

Wasting no more time, Andy comes up behind Cassidy and puts her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “What’s the matter?” She whispers, not wanting to interrupt the conversation taking place. Turning her head (she’s red in the face and her jaw is so tight that her mouth barely opens at all), Cassidy only offers, “Luna is dead,” and then leans back against Andy all the way. Like she trusts her. Like she knows Andy will not let her fall.

 _Luna_? For a second her brain trips out on her and all Andy can think of is that Luna Lovegood is doing anything but running around New York City. If she remembers correctly, Luna is supposed to be busy becoming one the best wizarding naturalists, more than likely off looking for those stupid Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, that don’t even exist. And aren’t they in Sweden or something?

“She was our bird,” Cassidy says, ripping Andy away from her mental visit to Hogwarts. “Our canary…in science class.” Well, now Andy is really confused, and Cassidy can probably tell without even seeing her face. While Caroline keeps on the phone and Miranda stares at the countertop, looking much the same way as she did after her own conversation with Erin, Andy’s confusion is dealt with. Tugging on her arms, Cassidy never lets go as she gives Andy all the answers.

As far as class pets go, Dalton Academy leads by example. In the girls’ science class there is a hermit crab that does absolutely nothing all day; a couple of hamsters that run around in a maze of tubes; an ant farm that everybody is scared of but won’t part with; a turtle that seems bored with life in general; a hedgehog who is the cutest thing ever; and an enormous fish tank that holds the key to tranquility when you’re mad or _think_ you’re sick and want to go to the nurse.

Then there’s Luna, who has been around the longest, and is most definitely the smartest. She doesn’t bite anybody. She doesn’t make a single sound when it’s test-taking time. She doesn’t do anything but bring joy. She is just a harmless and beautiful bird.

There’s one problem, though: after school, when they’ve all gone home, Luna is left to fend for herself.

Every other day someone different stays late to take care of the hermit crab, the turtle and Luna. On the other days, someone else stays to take care of the hedgehog and hamsters. Since the ant farm scares the crap out of everybody, and the fish tank is so enormous, those things are tended to during class.

Yesterday, after school, it was Alec Robson who was supposed to take care of Luna. _Care_ , being the operative word here, because he is a mean boy. The children have caught him turning the turtle upside and purposefully keeping him from turning himself upright again. They’ve caught him banging on the hamsters maze of tubes. They’ve caught him flicking the hermit crabs shell around like it was one of those paper footballs. They’ve even caught him doing horrible things to the ant farm none of them even like but don’t want to get rid of.

And if that’s not enough, Alec Robson terrorizes his own dog. He _kicks_ his own _dog_. They’ve all seen it.

Their teacher has done her bit to correct his behavior and so has the principal. For a while, things improved but that’s all ended. Erin (who is currently obsessed with a project she’s working on in art class) got to school before anybody else besides the janitors, and checked in on Luna and the rest of the gang, only to find her dead in the bottom of her cage due to (she is positive of this—her mother is a veterinarian, after all) a broken neck.

So this is what it’s come to. Luna lost out to Alec Robson; the mean boy that wasn’t even supposed to open her cage to begin with. Making sure she’s got (or had) fresh water and seed, didn’t require that. He purposefully opened the cage and purposefully screwed around with her…until she was gone.

In seconds Erin made the decision that this would be handled ‘in house’, so to speak, because ‘adults just don’t know what they’re doing’.

She cleaned up the cage that was left open (there were feathers everywhere), and even made sure fresh water and seed were present so it would look like Alec had done _nothing_ but what he was _supposed_ to do. After that she wrapped Luna in a small towel and placed her in box that usually held Erin’s precious art pencils.

And then she made a phone call.

She called the only people she knew could deal with this ‘properly’—as she put it. Two people that come from the likes of Halina and Miriam—who were at one time eight year old girls, busy kicking the crap out of mean boys like Alec every chance they got.  This is in their blood.

It is decided quickly that Luna’s death will be from ‘natural causes’. She was pretty old, so that’s a believable story and the teacher will never know better. But what is to happen after that is not discussed over the phone. Erin will be able to say she has no idea about anything at all. No clue whatsoever.

The first words out of Miranda’s mouth, after Caroline hangs up the phone, are, “Do you have a plan?” And it’s clear by the look that is still plastered on her face, Miranda _does_ if they _don’t_. In fact, Andy knows Miranda has already throttled that boy about forty times in her head. She’s all for stepping on and running over anyone that interferes with her magazine, but Miranda won’t stand for this. She just can’t do it.

The twins pay no attention to Miranda. They simply stare at each other for what seems like hours. It’s only seconds, but in those seconds, a lengthy discussion has been had.

Finally, “You’ll have to—“ Cassidy only half gets her sentence out before her sister finishes it, or answers her, rather.

“Yeah, I know. But you’ll have to—“

“I know,” Cassidy cuts her off this time.

“It will work,” Caroline says, coming up the counter. “It _will_ work if you can just--”

“I know. I _know_ ,” Cassidy says, scrambling out of Andy’s arms and off the barstool. “Believe me, I’ve got this. But after school, Carol.” And this time, when Andy hears the name, she doesn’t give it a second thought. Right now, for some weird reason, it feels completely normal. Cassidy raises an eyebrow and finishes, “Not lunch.”

Shaking her head back and forth, Caroline puts up a hand. “ _Duh_ ,” she says. “I’m not stupid. Let’s go change.”

Why they need to change is a mystery; they’re already dressed for school. Before Andy can ask any kind of question at all, Cassidy turns around and somehow manages to smile through her anger.

“Carol’s got the brains,” she tells Andy, with a grin on her face as Caroline starts to walk away. “I’m just…pissed off.”

Then they’re gone. Just like that they disappear upstairs to their rooms. She and Miranda know nothing. They aren’t left with a single clue about what will happen today after school. Well, Miranda might. She is their mother after all and can probably read their minds better than Andy ever will be able to.

For the fourth or fifth time this morning, her head spins around and around. “What in the hell just happened?” she says.

“She always does that.” Miranda sounds like she’s a million miles away. “Whenever there is something to be done or heightened stress, Cassidy always calls her _Carol_. It’s the strangest thing, if not eerie. Sunday night…”

Andy’s head spins some more. That wasn’t what she was talking about. “What? I don’t… What?”

“What?” Miranda looks at her and blinks a couple of times, as if she’s trying to find her way out of a fog. “Oh. You weren’t…”

“No, I was talking about school.”

“Well, I don’t know what they’re going to do,” Miranda throws up her hands. “I wish I could read their minds, but I can’t. I’ve tried and failed a million times. There’s no telling. But the other thing? The names? Do you…”

“ _Yes_?”

Before answering her, Miranda slips off her barstool and goes around the counter to pour coffee for them both. After she’s had a few sips, Miranda gets started. “Caroline is named after my mother’s brother, in a way. Surely you’ve guessed that much? It’s actually Caroline _Anna_ , which I wish I could change on a regular basis. So stupid of me…” Miranda stops when Andy starts to laugh.

Caroline Anna? That couldn’t get any better.

After glaring at Andy until she stops laughing, Miranda continues and what she says makes Andy forget about laughing altogether. “Cassidy, is Cassidy _Halina_ , and when she calls her sister ‘Carol’ it just…  She’s the only one that does. It’s not something she learned, that’s for sure. It seems like a kind of…I don’t know. The first time I heard her…”

Miranda can’t finish and doesn’t need to. Andy knows the rest already. She knows about the separation. The screaming. Everything.

“So out of the two, _Karol_ was the brains?” Andy asks without missing a beat, wanting to get those images out of her head _and_ Miranda’s.

“He was. Mother said he was always very cautious, a thinker. More proactive, than reactive. Caroline is the same way. Cassidy, on the other hand, is _only_ reactive, not to mention stubborn like her Nana. She was just—“

“The one constantly pissed off?”

“In a way, yes,” Miranda says and smiles. Actually, she grins. “And ready to take on the entire world all by herself.”

Which she did. In the end, it was just her. Just Halina. And she had to stay determined and pissed off to do it, to keep standing up, to keep living. Even when she was just eight years old and defending what was defenseless, Halina was taking on the entire world all by herself in any way she could, unknowingly preparing herself...

Now, Andy understands that today is simply a ‘rite of passage’ for Caroline and Cassidy (or maybe this has happened before). That’s why Miranda never said a word to them about being careful or tried to forbid whatever it is they are going to do. She knows better than anybody that it is not her place to do so. Her children will be just fine without her input, whether she likes it or not. They’ve got to be.  She won’t always be around to protect them and Andy has a sinking feeling that Halina, and now Miranda, thinks it is best that fact is learned early on.

Andy, on the other hand, has a harder time agreeing. Everything in her is begging for them to not even go to school today, to not even step a foot outside the door. She’s rather see them glued to her side and safe. Part of her wants to say that this isn’t worth it, that there are other ways around this. And there are. There are _many_ wants to work through this issue, except the girls have already chosen. In seconds they made their choice, and just like Miranda, there isn’t a thing Andy can do about it.

Regretfully, this fight is not hers.  

Miranda says no more of Halina, Karol or her own children. She only kisses Andy before disappearing upstairs to get ready. Well, she does do one other thing. She informs Andy that BBC is having _another_ Next Generation marathon tonight and that complaining won’t be of any use. With a sigh, Andy takes her coffee and trails off to the living room to figure out how to work Miranda’s DVR. That’s pointless, however, because of course, Miranda’s already got a timer set.

Cara comes in moments later with Patricia in tow, and she is bouncing off the walls. Not Patricia – _Cara_. As it turns out, she doesn’t take Patricia for walks. She takes her for jogs and judging by the way Patricia flops down on the kitchen floor, she hates it.

Andy can tell by the look on her face that Cara wants to ask a thousand inappropriate questions. Thank God, she doesn’t. Or is it that Andy’s face just gives everything away? Not about the twins…about the other thing. Oh, whatever. It’s not any of Cara’s business anyway and it’s not like she didn’t know Andy would be here this morning. 

Since they can’t (or don’t) talk about Miranda, Andy’s stuck steering Cara away from talking about Caroline and Cassidy, too. She would go ballistic and none of them have time for that today. And besides, if the girls want Cara to know, then they’ll tell her. If Miranda want’s Cara to know, then she’ll tell her. Again, Andy isn’t volunteering any information so instead, they talk about Leslie and how much she drives Cara crazy because she leaves her shoes everywhere, and on and on and on.

This right here tells Andy that Leslie is not quite the perfect representation of Seven that Miranda makes her out to be. From what little of Voyager she was forced to watch last night, Seven would never leave her shoes all over the place, and on and on and on… Honestly, that sounds more like something Captain Janeway would do. Actually…why does Andy even care? Then again, part of her wants to know all the details. She wants to know when and how Cara and Leslie met. She wants to know how long they’ve been together. All that stuff. Sadly, there’s just not time to get into it.

When everybody comes downstairs to leave, Andy figures out that Caroline and Cassidy don’t share every little detail of their lives with Cara. She asks them why they changed clothes: They immediately tell her they just ‘didn’t like the skirts we picked out’. She asks them what their plans are for after school: They tell her ‘we’re going to the library,’ and run right out the door, straight into the car. And Miranda? Well, she barely acknowledges Cara’s existence and how weird it _should_ be that her assistant spent the night.

That’s when Andy remembers there’s a king sized sheet piled up in the middle of Miranda’s bedroom floor. _Great_. And the pillows are all over the place; the covers, too. _Great_. And the guest bedroom has most definitely not been slept in. _Great_.

So much for this not being any of Cara’s business.

Honestly, Cara’s been all up in their business since Sunday night. Probably longer. Then again, it doesn’t matter. It might have pissed Andy off at the time, but she knows Cara’s concern is only coming from a good place. Andy just hopes she’s passed (or _is_ passing) whatever tests Cara has set up in her mind. She said it would be ‘pass or fail’, didn’t she? No in between.

The hardest part of the morning comes when they drop the girls off. They both hug Andy (which she did not expect) then kiss Miranda on the cheek. As Caroline climbs out of the car first, she says, “Don’t worry, Mom. We’re earning our names today. That’s all. Nana will be proud by the time this is over. And besides, I’ve got it all figured out. It’s gonna go perfectly.”

 _Earning our names_ …

Cassidy climbs out after her and makes it all the harder by saying in a low voice, “Don’t worry about Carol. I’d never let her get hurt. I swear.”

Andy doesn’t look at Miranda until they’ve pulled into traffic. She’s staring out the window with her face almost completely turned away from Andy’s view. And then…

“You’re worried?” she asks.

Andy swallows hard and is surprised Miranda’s even asking her. “Yeah,” she says. “I’d rather they… Well, I just—“

“It is not about what we would _rather_ , Andrea,” Miranda cuts her off harshly. “This is how it starts,” she says, tapping her fingers hard against the window. “Small, always small at first. Until one day you look up and for reasons beyond your understanding, you’re losing everything, everyone and you can’t fight back fast enough or hard enough. If this… If this _boy_ has made the choice to _kill_ a bird that is already living in a _cage_ , what will he do next? What will he chose to destroy next? When it is least expected?”

All Andy can think of is—did Luna ever know freedom? Did she live even a single day outside of a cage? Probably not.

“As for what is to be earned—everything must be earned,” Miranda says, before Andy has a chance to breathe. “Even your name, comes at a price. My life is a direct result of my mother’s determination and choices.  Though not very well at times, I have tried to earn what was given to me and Caroline and Cassidy will do the same. That’s just what we do, Andrea. Do not discourage them.”

So that’s what this was all about. Besides the fact that hurting innocent animals was just pure fucking evil, all three of them felt like they had something to prove, like they had to earn the privilege of being born in the first place and would be damned if even the simplest thing was given to them. Because think about it—nobody gave Miranda anything…her position in life. None of it had come for free and she’d do whatever she had to do keep it. And yes, the girls were spoiled beyond measure but apparently they were also under the same impression.

What’s worse is that it’s highly unlikely Halina put that notion in their heads. Just _knowing_ put Miranda and her daughters in a constant state of questioning themselves. They probably all wonder if they could have made it and are terrified of the answer. Therefore, any time the opportunity presented itself, they fight back against anything and everything to prove otherwise.

“I wasn’t going to,” Andy says quickly because _no_ , she never planned on discouraging them, exactly. Especially not now. She just planned on worrying herself half to death today. That’s all. “But you asked, so I told you.”

“True. I did ask. I suppose I just did not expect you to—“

“What,” Andy cuts her off. “You didn’t think I’d care?” How the fuck could Miranda think that? “Well, I do. I care very much. So just…I don’t know, Miranda. Just deal with it, I guess.”

In true fashion, the subject is changed right then and there. “This wasn’t exactly how I pictured the morning _after_ ,” Miranda says, with a bitter chuckle at the end. “I’m sorry.”

All the images of their time before the phone call run through Andy’s head, even though she’s aggravated by Miranda’s ability to maneuver around conversations any way she pleases. _No_ , it’s not really what she had in mind either, but does it matter? Frankly, she’s just happy there was an ‘after’ in the first place. What she’s not happy about, though, is Miranda apologizing for something that’s completely out of her control. But she can’t exactly chastise her for it; that would never work. It’d probably be better to just slowly help Miranda see the other side to whatever she felt guilty about (whether those things were real or simply made up in her head). Sort of like Anakin. He needed all the help he could get.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing, Miranda,” Andy says lightly. “We were together, right? Crisis or not, that’s better than no morning at all. Don’t you think?”

After a deep breath, Miranda gives a short reply. “I agree,” is all she says, and Andy’s not really sure of what to do.

There are a hundred things going on here at once. As she already knows, part of her wants to make Roy turn the car around so they can get the girls out of school. Yet, part of her, deep down, wants to see what they’re made of. Whatever Caroline and Cassidy have planed (no matter if Andy is worried) she doesn’t doubt they’ll accomplish it. And shamelessly, another part of her wants to forget about everybody (mainly Alec) and just make out with Miranda right here in the damn car. Besides…there’s a privacy screen, right? And it’s totally going to waste.  

Apparently, Miranda’s got the same idea (either that or she’s just looking for a distraction) because seconds after having that thought, Andy hears the hum of the privacy screen being raised.

Before she can say yes or no or even think about the fact the tinted windows aren’t exactly blacked out, Miranda pulls her all the way across the seat and onto her lap.

“Well, hello,” Andy can’t help but say with a laugh as she wraps her arms around Miranda’s neck, thankful the backseat is roomy enough for this.

Miranda looks her in the eye; her hands are already under Andy’s skirt, resting on her thighs. “Yes,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Hello.”

In spite of what Anna said a few days ago, Nigel isn’t insane. He’s actually the smartest person alive for picking out this skirt for her to wear today. Somehow, Andy will have to find a way to thank him for it, but sure as hell won’t be telling Anna that she disagrees with her verdict.

This is definitely more intense than Andy counted on. They’re not kissing. They’re just staring at each other and while Miranda might seem to be the perfect picture of calm, her pulse gives her away. Andy can see it through her skin and Miranda is hardly breathing. Talk about a good poker face.

That poker face has a limit though and it’s quickly reached. The moment Miranda touches Andy, slowly gliding her fingers over silk that’s barely even there, and not just _damp_ —but _wet_ , very wet silk, her eyes darken and a sound comes from the back of Miranda’s throat.

“I suppose,” Miranda voice is strained, “You wouldn’t mind being a beautiful distraction for me this morning. Would you?”

Andy nods her head and sighs; she’s been dying to be touched like this since they stopped this morning and has no problem serving as a _distraction_ if this is what it entails. The amount of power Miranda already has over her body is amazing, addictive, and probably a little dangerous, but Andy is more than excepting of all those things.

 “What do you want?” Miranda asks her, speaking suddenly. It comes out all soft and quiet, yet the lethal extension of it is missing completely.

The fact that Miranda is being so gentle in her touch and in the way she occasionally flicks the pad of her thumb makes Andy unable to answer. What does she want?

 _Everything_.

When Miranda’s movements become more demanding (probably since Andy hasn’t given her an answer), she gasps, bites her bottom lip and even though its tiniest bit painful, Andy can’t help but move along with it. And, God, she still can’t speak. All Andy can do is look at Miranda.

“Sore?” Miranda asks.

Again, Andy can’t speak but she can at least nod. At least she can do that much…and move her hips…and dig her nails into Miranda’s shoulders. That’s about all she can manage.

“Just this, then?” Miranda lightens her touch, moving gently again, caressing in a rhythm that sets her whole body on fire.

The only way Andy can say _yes_ is to let her head fall back and slowly move, guided by Miranda’s fingers. She’s probably not even breathing. Miranda is almost too good at this.

Her voiceless answer doesn’t satisfy. “Look at me,” Miranda says softly. “Look at _me_ , Andrea.”

To help Andy along, Miranda glides her free hand to the back of her neck and hauls her forward. Finally able to look at Miranda, she can hardly handle the shock it delivers to her system. Once again, Miranda’s eyes give her away. She actually wants to know. Miranda _needs_ to verbally know that this is what Andy wants. Or all she wants, actually. Because she wants to please Andy. Right now, Miranda could very easily do whatever the hell she wanted to Andy, but she wants _this_ more than having her own way.

As if in confirmation, Miranda says, in that same soft voice, “I want you to feel good. You must tell me…please.”

“Yes,” Andy says, shaking her repeatedly. “Yes, Miranda…this. Just like this.”

After that, Andy loses whatever control she had left to the way Miranda touches her; the way Miranda kisses her in time with her movements; the way Andy’s got to hold back the sounds that want to come along with feeling this fucking good; the way Miranda says her name as Andy comes not once, but twice.

The word ‘overwhelming’ doesn’t cover it and Miranda’s got to tell Roy (using the intercom, _duh_ ) to make a few blocks before stopping at Runway just so Andy can get herself together. In fact, Miranda has to redo half her make-up for her and get her hair (Miranda destroyed it at some point) to look presentable again.

Miranda’s hair, make-up and clothes are in disarray as well, but like the ‘Devil in Prada’ that she is, when Miranda steps out of the car minutes later, she looks like she’s just been doing _nothing_ for the whole ride. How unfair is that?

Her brain is still misfiring all over the place but Andy knows she really can’t arrive upstairs with Miranda like this. No assistant has ever ridden into work with Miranda and she can’t start doing that now. It would put Emily over the edge.

“You should get coffee,” Miranda says as Andy gets out of the car on legs that barely hold her up.

“I thought the same thing. Emily will have already gotten it, though.”

“That hardly matters,” Miranda continues to stand there by the car like they have all day. “Get coffee. Get something to eat, too. You’ve managed to skip breakfast yet again and you know I do not approve, Andrea.”

“Yes, Miranda.” Andy shrugs, wondering for the third or fourth time why Miranda is so interested in making sure she eats.

Miranda steps closer, too close considering they’re out here for all the world to see. “Don’t be gone too long…and don’t worry about the girls, darling.”  

Well that does it. Andy’s mind has only been one thing for the past twenty or thirty minutes: _Miranda_. Now that’s gone and replaced by Caroline and Cassidy. If anything happens today, Andy will come un-fucking-glued.

“But I am worried, Miranda.” Andy is as close to whining as she can get out here on the sidewalk. “I am worried. What do you think they’re going to do? I mean it.” Andy nearly stomps her foot. “Just tell me.”

Miranda sighs heavily and her shoulders drop just the slightest. “I don’t know… Probably beat the crap out of him. Which is what he deserves. That and worse. They’ll be alright.” Miranda shakes her head like she’s trying to believe it too. “And two are always better than one,” she says, sounding hopeful all of the sudden. “I only had myself and a broken nose to show for it.”

Oh… A broken nose?

“What? You thought I inherited this?” Miranda rolls her eyes and points at, yes, her nose.

Before Andy can crack up right there on the sidewalk, she bolts toward Starbucks, leaving Miranda behind without a word or wave.

Once Andy’s got the coffee and something for breakfast, she’s just about talked herself into acceptance. If it comes down to a fight, and broken noses are the only thing Caroline and Cassidy suffer, then she can live with that. It’ll drive Andy crazy and scare her to death and probably cause her to say a lot of shit she shouldn’t, but she’ll live with it. Harry certainly never came away completely unscathed, and neither did Luke—to say nothing of Anakin. Inside and out, injuries are sustained by anybody that bothers to stand up for something.

No matter what your name is, no matter what kind of power you possess or don’t; no matter how privileged you are or aren’t, standing up always comes at a price.

 

 TO BE CONTINUED


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure it’s well past time to dust another chapter off and hand it over—so here. Enjoy. I would apologize for the wait and gathering of dust but I really cannot bring myself to say the ‘S’ word these days. For those of you that stick by me---I can say THANK YOU without a single problem and consider this posting dedicated to FFnet member 825.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Andy never thought there’d be a day tougher to get through than what was almost her last with Miranda back in Paris. But today is (and will continue to be) tougher and nothing about Runway seems to care. The phones still ring a million times; the emails keep right on coming; the schedule still has to be changed in a hundred different ways, and Andy is back to running around like a chicken with her head cut off. Worst yet, Miranda is driving everyone to impossible limits because she’s _not_ in a foul mood—she’s preoccupied which is never a good thing for _anybody_ to experience from Miranda.

It doesn’t help that in spite of talking herself into acceptance a handful of hours ago, Andy’s about to go nuts with preoccupation herself. A bunch of Ping-Pong balls are bouncing around inside her head and for once, none of them are labeled Star Wars or Harry Potter. They’re labeled: Caroline and Cassidy. Two little girls that make her care less and less about Runway with every second that passes and by two o’clock, Andy’s not just preoccupied or going nuts. She’s about to lose her damn mind.

As for Miranda—well, she might be driving everyone mad, even pushing herself harder than usual, but she still has plenty time to look at her cellphone every few minutes, carrying it with her everywhere she goes. She’s still got plenty of time to stare out of her office window and fiddle around with her earrings and necklace like she always does when she’s nervous. She’s still got plenty of time to sit on the couch in the corner of her office (a couch she never sits on) to flip through the latest bit of junk from her divorce attorney.

That’s definitely something Andy could do without: remembering, during this mess of a day, that Miranda is still, technically, a married woman. Somehow she’d kind of forgotten about that so, of course, in the middle of worrying herself to death about whatever it is the twins might be doing and answering yet another email from Irv, Andy starts to wonder what Miranda and Stephen’s marriage was like. She avoids thinking about the bedroom end of it but, really, in general, it’s an intriguing thing to try and picture.

What would Stephen have done on Sunday? Not to boast, but Andy can’t put him in her place. She can’t begin to picture him in bed with Miranda and the twins, reciting spells alphabetically until Caroline and Cassidy were too tired to keep their eyes open. That just doesn’t seem right. And okay, even though she doesn’t really want to think about this, Andy can’t picture Miranda in his arms, wasting the morning away, cuddling, talking, or anything else. Just talking…simply trying to picture that is a no-go. Nothing between Stephen and Miranda fits right inside her head.

But what about Greg? It makes her feel sick to admit it but at some point Miranda had to have loved him. Whatever her reasons were for marrying Stephen, Andy knows deep down that Miranda would not have married anyone, the first time around, for anything but love. She was much younger back then, no doubt a romantic, idealistic and hopeful. The walls, that always threatening persona, had probably not fully taken root yet. Love was easy back then. Greg was safe.

So when had he stopped being safe? When and _how_ did Miranda figure out being romantic, idealistic and hopeful were nothing but dangerous? Because surely that’s how she sees it these days. Just plain dangerous. And not that that’s the only reason Miranda is a complete bitch to everybody that darkens her path, but it had to have been the jumping off point. After that kind of let-down, everything was more or less about keeping people at a distance. Especially after Greg started burying her under insult after insult, verbally beating it into her head that she was nothing at all. And then he cheated on her. In her _office_. Probably knowing he’d get caught…

“That sorry, son of a bitch.” Andy mumbles under her breath, hurrying down the hall with the usual two o’clock coffee.

Just before she can really get into figuring out how it is that she’s been able to get past all the things Greg did to Miranda in order to make her open up even just a little bit, Andy comes to a screeching halt, staring into the doorway of what she’s come to think of as Miranda’s little sanctuary. In fact, this is probably as close to a quiet spot like Anna’s (but totally different looking) that she could probably have.

It’s nothing more than a tiny, extraordinarily bright room where hundreds of pictures are pined to boards for her consideration. Most of this is just a click or two away at any given moment, and yeah, there’s always the Book every night, but the purpose here is more of a ‘big picture’ kind of thing.

She knows she ought to just put the cup in Miranda’s hand and walk out but can’t do it. Her feet won’t move. This is as close as they’ve been all day.

The transfer of the coffee takes a beat too long; Miranda’s eyes stay fixed on her. Being that perfect distraction this morning, comes to mind, causing Andy’s face to burn. Miranda quirks an eyebrow, then turns to face the wall again where ten different versions of the next cover are front and center.

“I really don’t know how this is going to work,” Miranda says in a low voice.

“You’ve still got a couple of weeks,” Andy dumbly points out, thinking Miranda is talking about all these choices on the wall.

“How on earth can I have a couple of weeks when you said I didn’t have a choice at all just this morning?”

_Say what?_

“Oh,” Miranda lets it out slowly. “You thought I meant this?” She looks at Andy and nods her head toward the wall.

Andy swallows hard and nods in confirmation. What is Miranda talking about? How is _what_ supposed to work?

“I meant _us_.” Miranda whispers. “ _Here_.”

“Oh…” And here’s where her head starts to spin in a way that isn’t good. Andy can’t do this right now. She’s tense enough as it is. Talking about how work is supposed to _work_ … No. She can’t do it. There are more important things…

“Well, you’re full of help this afternoon.”

“Sorry,” Andy cringes at the sarcastic tone. “I really haven’t let myself think about it.”

A bit of laughter is choked back and it sure as hell didn’t come from Andy. Whipping her head around, she knows the look she’s giving Miranda isn’t nice but she can’t help it. This isn’t funny. She really hasn’t thought about it. Much… Well, she thought about it in relation to the hours after work, but not _during_. Either way, this situation still isn’t funny. And maybe Andy _can_ talk about this because now she’s pissed off.

“I apologize for laughing.” Miranda says, with hardly a straight face.

“It’s not funny. I don’t know how it’s supposed to work either, but thinking about that right now isn’t on my list, okay?”

“Fine then. Later?”

“Yeah, later. And besides, if you don’t know, then neither do I. I don’t even care, to be honest.”

“You should probably start caring, Andrea.”

“ _No_ ,” Andy says firmly. “I really shouldn’t. I don’t care how it works, so long as you don’t try to get rid of me today.”

“There’s no need to go there,” Miranda says dryly. “I already tried that. It didn’t work.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a bite mark on my shoulder as _proof_. And other stuff…”

“My… You’re in a mood.”

“I’m not,” Andy nearly stomps her foot and throws a fit just like she wanted to earlier this morning on the sidewalk. “What made you laugh, anyway?”

“It just reminded me of something you said earlier. Not allowing yourself to entertain certain…thoughts.”

Andy looks at Miranda again. She’s six shades of red and staring Andy right out of her clothes. “And you were thinking I’m the one who’s going to have a problem at work?” She asks, because she’s got to know. Was Miranda planning on giving her some big ‘we have to be appropriate’ speech?

“I hadn’t decided.”

“I just decided for you. You look like you’re about to die. Mystery solved.”

“For someone that’s about to die,” Miranda quips and steps closer. “Right now, I feel better than I have in ages.”

Andy takes a step back. “Get away from me before I have to file sexual harassment charges against you.”

“Drastic, don’t you think?” Miranda takes a step back.

“Well… It’s all I could think of on short notice.”

Miranda sighs then nods. “So long as you keep making threats like that, I supposed we’ll be alright. As for everything else--”

“There is absolutely no way in hell,” Andy cuts her off. “That I’m allowing this place to get in our way, Miranda. Having to make stupid threats of sexual harassment charges, or having to put up with _whatever_ … Nothing is going to take me away from you.”

Where this has come from, in this serious tone that leaves no room for argument, Andy hasn't a clue, but Miranda doesn’t look surprised. In fact, she looks relieved. She looks really, _really_ relieved.

“That’s all you wanted to hear, isn’t it?” Andy asks her, stepping closer, disregarding her own sexual harassment threat from five seconds ago. “You just need to know that nothing can chase me away? Even if you _don’t_ try?”

“Perhaps. If things here become too difficult to manage, then I…“ Miranda lowers her eyes to the floor.

“Don’t do that, Miranda.”

“What?” Miranda looks up at her.

“Look down like that. Like you’re afraid. Just look at me, please.”

“Fine.” Miranda jerks her head up. “If it becomes difficult, we will simply talk about it,” she says, looking more confident and relieved again instead of pissed off that Andy has just pointed out a weakness. “That’s not my strongest quality, but it’s the only way. You’re determined, obviously. And so am I.”

Andy can only shake her head as a light bulb goes off.

When Andy sounds even the slightest bit hesitant about anything, anything at all, then Miranda sees everything as already over. When Andy sounds sure, firm, and completely unyielding, Miranda sees everything as not only possible—but like half the battle has already been fought and won.

Miranda clears her throat a few seconds later and motions toward the door. “We should go…”

So they go. Andy’s 100% neither of them want to, but if they don’t get back to work (or at least pretend to work), the preoccupation of Miranda Priestly, Editor and Chief of Runway, will just get worse.

“I wish they would call,” Miranda says, changing the subject as they turn the last corner. “And let me know what they’re up to. They never do, of course, and that’s _fine_. It’s their way. But this… This is different. At least I might be able to concentrate if they would just…”

Andy looks nervously at her watch. It’s two-thirty; Dalton lets out at three.

“They probably won’t call until closer to four,” Andy whispers. “You have a meeting at three. The prep for the next board meeting. Which is tomorrow…”

“I’m well aware of when it is.” Miranda turns and glares at her; Andy knows exactly why. Miranda hates board meetings. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Andy smarts back and throws in a hint of a smile.

Miranda’s three o’clock meeting is a disaster. For starters, she makes Andy go and Andy never goes to those things. She does all the _work_ , but Emily is the one that goes to the meetings and takes all the credit. So yeah, Andy gets daggers thrown at her back as she walks down the hall.

Once they get there, the real disaster occurs: Miranda pays zero attention to what anyone has to say. _Zero_. In fact, the zero fucks given are so extensive that Andy ends up running the meeting and the whole thing raises more than a few eyebrows. Everyone has seen Miranda distracted before but not like this. Not to the point of doodles being drawn on her legal pad that look an awful lot like Hogwarts with the Enterprise flying overhead, firing torpedoes at… Is that the Millennium Falcon? _Seriously_?

“Okay, that’s a really shitting thing to draw.” Andy says as soon as the last person leaves, deciding that it’s pointless to try and keep either of them focused anyway, so why not indulge?

Like she knew this was coming, Miranda doesn’t miss a beat. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she says, tilting her head this way and that, inspecting her handiwork. “After all, I’ve done your little ship a favor, darling. If this were real, the Enterprise would never _chase_ the Millennium Falcon. No, there would be no _chase_. We would simply…run right over it.”

Andy takes a deep breath.

Little ship?

No chase?

Run right over it?

No. Fucking. Way.

“I think this would look quite nice in your Man Cave.” Miranda tears the page off and holds it up, teasingly. “On the refrigerator, perhaps. Don’t you agree?”

“In the garbage disposal, maybe.” Andy frowns. “Along with some Star Trek action figures that I’m sure you’ve got hidden some place. They could all live ‘happily ever-after’ down the drain.”

Miranda returns her frown. “I don’t have any,” she says and Andy can tell that she’s not lying and just might regret the lack thereof. “But even if I did, that’s not very nice.”

“Stop saying I live in a Man Cave.”

“There’s not a chance of that in heaven or hell,” Miranda says flatly. “It’s too much fun to see you get so…riled up over such an inconsequential thing.”

“It’s not inconsequential.”

Miranda drops the drawing on the table and shrugs. “No. I suppose it isn’t. Tell me… What are your plans for retribution?”

See? They’re not getting anything done today. Between the twins and _them_ , not a single thing of real importance is happening at Runway except little conversations like these.

It takes Andy a second or two to really see the blush on Miranda’s face, but it’s there. “Sexual harassment,” Andy says with the straightest face possible while pushing her chair back, pointing at Miranda.

That does the trick. “You really are something, Andrea. Truly remarkable.” Miranda stands quickly and starts to gather up all her junk. Including her little drawing. Folding it carefully, she puts it in the pocket of her slacks and Andy doesn’t doubt that she’ll eventually find it in her apartment, on her refrigerator when she least expects it. Before Andy can figure out some sort of smartass remark to come back with, Miranda renders her speechless. “I’ve never met anyone else like you,” she says in a way that catches Andy’s attention and makes her hold her breath. “Sometimes it feels like you force me to trust you. I’m not sure how you’ve managed it, but you’ve even forced me to fall in love with you. I fought it, and hated you for it, of course.” Miranda chews on the bottom of her lip for a moment then brushes her hair out of her face, “That really cannot be denied. But there is something about you that is fiercely unyielding…and strong. When I don’t have faith or direction or even good sense, you do. It made me fall in love with you, Andrea, and I suspect I am not done falling yet.”

Andy exhales slowly and balls her hands up into fists so tight her knuckles crack as her heart starts to feel like a chunk of lead. Of all the times for them to be _here_. But even if they weren’t here, even if they were a thousand miles from here, Andy wouldn’t know what to say; which makes her remember that she is not good at this. In spite of what her mother thinks, Andy isn’t good at love. She’s not good with the words that should come along with it and even if she were, Andy’s pretty sure she would never have the right words to explain why or how much she loves Miranda anyway. They probably don’t exist.

Still in her chair, she looks up at Miranda, who is very busy fiddling with the legal pad and papers in her hands. “The other night, when I said I wasn’t good at trust,” Andy reaches out and frees Miranda of her pad and all those papers, “I should have said _this_ …verbal expression.” With nothing in her way now, Andy takes advantage of the fact there are no glass walls surrounding this particular conference room and continues to hold onto Miranda’s hands. “I’m not used to this,” she says. “Explaining why. Or how… You’ll probably always be better at that than I am.”

“I had always believed, if given the chance,” Miranda finally looks at Andy’s face. “That it would be the other way around.”

“Well, it isn’t. You surpass all expectations. Not that I have any…”

“I don’t either,” Miranda says quickly and Andy knows she’s talking about settling for less again.

“And I think that is totally crazy, Miranda.” Andy figures out how to stand up at this point and they’re finally face to face.

“Expectations often lead to disappointment.”

“Maybe in the past,” Andy squeezes her hands and throws everything to wind, kissing Miranda softly on the mouth.

One soft kiss turns into much more. Andy should have known better. Well, she did know better; she just didn’t care.

Before Andy fully realizes what is happening, Miranda has her sitting right there on the table and when her hands find their way under Andy’s skirt for the second time this morning, resting them on her thighs, she moans into Miranda’s mouth. It’s a wonder she doesn’t fall backwards onto the cold surface and can’t say that she’d mind it much if she did.

And yes, Miranda is too good at this. Surely Andy should be able to…what? Make-out with Miranda? Without wanting to skip right on by that and move into being completely naked with no self-control at all? Well, that’s the problem. Andy doesn’t have any self-control. None whatsoever and neither does Miranda. Which is kind of scary when you think about it. Miranda Priestly and the concept of no self-control just don’t go together. She is the Editor, after all.

“Oh, fuck,” Andy breaths in sharply when Miranda bites at her neck and starts to push her skirt up. Nope. No self-control. Which means Andy’s got to get a grip and fast. “Sexual harassment,” Andy repeats several times, pushing against Miranda’s hips with her hands. When Miranda moves away from her neck, the look she gets in return isn’t a pretty one.

“You would say that now.” Miranda’s tone is flippant and it’s clear she still doesn’t give a shit. “I’ll give you my lawyer’s number. In fact, I’ll simply call him for you once I’ve had you right here on this table. Would you like that, Andrea?”

Since that’s one of the nicest presents Andy’s ever been offered, she shrugs and stops giving a damn all over again.

They are hopeless.

Just before Miranda starts to not push her skirt up further, but rip if off completely, something happens that’s probably going to get old pretty fast: the phone rings.

It’s not a ringtone Andy’s ever heard come from Miranda’s cell, and it’s not Caroline or Cassidy. Andy knows their ringtones. Caroline’s is whimsical and always reminds Andy of Tinkerbelle for some goofy reason. Cassidy’s is less whimsical, of course, and more on the techno side. But this ringtone doesn’t have a thing in the world to do with Tinkerbelle or weird techno music. This ringtone is nothing but a siren that sounds distant at first, then closer and closer.

“Yes,” Miranda says as she answers. There is no real greeting. “Where are you?”

Andy jumps off the table, obviously, and smooths out her skirt as the voice on the other end of Miranda’s phone seems to speak a hundred words at once. The next thing Andy knows, Miranda is flying down the hall and there’s little else to do but chase after her; Andy’s heart goes straight into her throat. Ringtones be damned—this is about the girls anyway.

Miranda’s first stop is the closet where her coat and bag are kept. At first, Emily tries to retrieve them for her but is basically pushed aside by Miranda, who doesn’t even want her coat and bag. Not really. All she wants is the money inside.

It takes everything in Andy to keep her mouth shut and not beg or plead to know exactly what is going on, but when Miranda races back out their office door, she follows. To hell with the weird looks coming from Emily. None of that matters right now.

This whole time, that voice has still been speed talking and Miranda’s been silently listening, not saying a word. As soon as the elevator door closes, though, she finds her voice.

“I’m not exactly happy with the _seating_ arrangement, but either way you have got to slow down, Bee. You have my _children_ in the car. In the _trunk_!”

Miranda keeps on talking but Andy’s more focused on the name she’s just heard. _Bee_ … Well, holy shit. She’s about to meet Anna Wintour’s daughter. Who happens to have children in her _trunk_? Caroline and Cassidy are in the _trunk_ of a car? Yeah… Andy’s head starts to spin and hurt and her vision is hardly the best at the moment.

From here on, Miranda doesn’t shut up until the elevator opens into the parking garage. Of course. Duh. The parking garage. Knowing that she has got to get herself together, Andy takes a deep breath  and follows after Miranda, only one step behind until they come face-to-face with the attendant who looks puzzled until Miranda shoves cash into his hand and nods her head toward the direction they’ve just come from.

By the way he smiles, tips his little hat and walks away; Andy knows he’s been through this before. Bee Shaffer (who Andy figures by what tabloids she’s seen, is either nineteen or just a little older and certainly recognizable) has been in this parking garage with Caroline and Cassidy before. Hopefully not via the trunk, but in any case, they’ve been here together and Miranda pays people to disappear without knowing why.

“What’s going on,” Andy finally asks while Miranda paces in one particular spot that is out of security camera range. “You’ve got to tell me”

Miranda whirls around. “We’ve been…lied to, it seems. Or _misinformed_. I don’t know…” She throws her hands up then begins to pace again. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” For a moment, Miranda goes silent and Andy is dying to beg for clarification but knows it will come soon enough. In fact, in the very next second, with the sound of squealing tires, all the answers arrive. “Alec is being beaten, Andrea,” Miranda says as she rushes toward the car. “And he’s been taking it out on _anything_ he can get his little hands on. The girls figured it out.”

With those words and the quick movement of Bee getting out of the car, Andy chooses to shut off half her brain. Emotions will do her no good right now. Or that’s what she thinks until not only the twins climb out...but Alec also. They’ve kidnapped Alec Robson and stuffed him into the trunk of a car…and he’s got to be the tiniest eleven year old boy Andy has ever seen. The Dalton sweater that’s two sizes too big for him and unruly blond hair that falls in his face cannot cover the anger vibrating through him. Or the pain.

Everybody is talking at once. Bee is trying (for probably the second or third time) to explain that it was either the trunk or nothing, and Miranda ought to know that because hello, they’ve done this before and cannot be seen together by anyone. Period. Ever. No matter what. And forget about tinted windows. They don’t trust them to work well enough since everybody in New York City knows what they look like.

Deciding to tune everybody out for a while, Andy picks Alec up without permission and places him on the closed trunk.

 “It’s not his fault.” Cassidy says, watching Andy’s every move, looking suspicious and fearful. “None of this is his fault.”

For a split second, Andy hears the words, “None of this is your fault” instead, and what she still, to this day, considers to be her fault, brings every single emotion Andy holds at arm’s length, to the surface. In order to hide from it, she holds onto Alec and surprisingly, he holds onto her. While Miranda, Bee and Caroline continue to go around and around (because neither of them are giving Miranda real, concrete answers to any of her other questions), he cries and in her ear Alec apologizes for things he has no business apologizing for. For the way he is at school. For the way he picks on everybody…and their class pets. For making mistakes. For dropping things…

 _No_.

Something snaps inside her head. Or breaks. It’s the sound of a bowl breaking so clearly that it’s _got_ to be real. It’s not though, Andy reminds herself, and from then on she refuses to really process the words coming out of Alec’s mouth. This is as far as she can go; she will not allow herself to feel the Dementors sucking the life right out of her. She will not become small or fragile or anything else. Those things are completely unacceptable.

“You’re perfect the way you are, Alec,” Andy says, brushing the hair off of his damp forehead. She might not want to process his words but Andy can’t just let him sit here and cry, either. “Cassidy’s right. None of this is your fault.”

Before she can continue, there is the sound of another car coming close. Andy glances quickly at Miranda to see if they should move or hide or what, but there’s no indication of that. In fact, Miranda is walking toward the car that is now stopped. Detective Henley steps out and so does someone else.  

It is Alec’s mother; just as thin and vibrating with the same anger and pain. They look exactly the same.

The little boy practically leaps off the car and out of Andy’s arms. He runs right to his mother, apologizing immediately for telling anybody. Because you see he was never supposed to tell. No one was ever supposed to know. Neither of them were ever supposed to go ‘off script’ and neglect the stories and lies put in place to explain everything away.

“I made him tell me.” Cassidy pulls on Andy’s arm, distracting her from the scene. Her expression is one of shame; it’s obvious that Cassidy is not exactly proud of how this was all accomplished. “We tried before,” she continues. “To do something… But he wouldn’t tell anybody the truth and his dad makes a lot of money…more than Mom. It’s like the perfect picture at his house. No one believed us.”

So they told someone before. They told someone, probably a teacher, someone that’s supposed to fix things and make them right. Someone they trusted… And along the way, nothing turned out right. It’s all too common. Carefully planned stories, excuses, and threats can cover up just about anything. Especially when everything seems to be a fairytale at home. Sometimes it’s enough to make people choose _not_ to believe what is right in front of them.

But Caroline, Cassidy and even Erin are much too smart for that. The boy they knew last year, a boy that Cassidy ‘really, _really_ liked a lot’, turned into somebody they didn’t know, and there had to be a reason for it. There just had to be.

Luna dying was the last straw. Alec used to be fascinated with her but when you’re in a cage yourself, the things you love are the things you start to hate and the life he lived, when demonstrated through Luna, was too much for his friends. Erin had had enough and knew that no matter what, Alec had to be set free _today_. They couldn’t afford to wait on Alec to stand up any longer. He needed help and since no one listened to them last time, they put themselves in charge, leaving Miranda and Andy in the dark with not even half the truth delivered at breakfast.

There is still a lot to be explained. Like how Bee and the detective became involved; but at this particular moment, that didn’t matter quite so much because Cassidy’s got a problem that is eating at her a hundred times worse than whatever it is she had to do to make Alec tell her the truth finally.

The thing she never wanted to have happen has happened: _Carol_ is hurt. Even though she is in jean, it’s easy to see that for whatever reason, her right knee is a bloody mess.

“Who told you this was your fault?” Andy asks. “Who told you that Caroline was always your responsibility? Mistakes happen, you know.”

“Nana,” she says, pressing against Andy’s side. “Nana said I couldn’t let anything hurt her. Ever. I’m tougher than her. Nana said so…so it’s my job.”

Well, fuck. This isn’t good. What if she really meant that all the responsibly for Caroline did in fact rest in Cassidy? Andy figures that cannot be true and decides almost instantly that she’s going to play it off that way. There really isn’t another choice. Cassidy cannot do this for the rest of her life. Andy won’t allow it.

“I bet if you gave her a chance, Caroline could be pretty good at taking care of herself.”

“She wasn’t today.” Cassidy sighs, giving no further explanation and Andy figures it’s a safe bet that they’ll never get one.

“A hurt knee is a minor thing, though, Cassidy. That happens to everybody. You can’t take everything in as your own.”

Cassidy sighs _again_. Actually it’s closer to pouting and likely that at some point, in the next few hours, they all might get to witness a good, old fashion meltdown from her. She’s tired, a little dirty, yet wired so yeah… A meltdown is probably approaching.

The sight of Henley putting Alec and his mother into her car gets Andy’s attention. Cassidy has seen it too and races to catch Alec before his door closes. She gives him a hug and Andy is sure that the picture it creates will forever be burnt into her head.

Once they’re on their way (Henley is taking them to the police station, then her own house), it’s just the five of them and Andy is finally getting her first up close and personal look at Anna’s daughter. What she finds, tells her that Bee will be a bigger problem for her than Cara ever will.

“So this is Andy.” Bee says this like the words are poison.

Miranda groans in disgust before Andy can properly introduce herself. “Bee, really, must you?”

“No. I guess not.” Bee rolls her eyes. “Hello.”

Andy smiles and steps forward to shake her hand. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” she says, unwilling to be intimidated by this girl. Fuck that.

Bee shakes her hand rather limply and barely returns the verbal gesture. She continues to stare, though, and so does Andy. It’s like some sort of duel.

“I never met _Stephen_ ,” she says with an eyebrow raised that had to have been learned from Miranda.

Stating the fact that she isn’t Stephen and never will be, is right on the tip of her tongue, but somebody else takes care of that for Andy and Bee gets dismissed in the process.

“She’s not Stephen, you stupid idiot.” Caroline says. “Thanks for the ride. _Bye_.”

“You’re welcome.” Bee smiles and gives both the girls high-fives. “Any time you need a get-away car, you know who to call.”

“Totally,” Cassidy says and waves as Bee gets into her car.

“We’ll discuss your _idiocy_ later, darling.” Miranda looks as if she’s definitely had enough for one day and possibly longer. “And don’t _speed_. You’re the only person capable of getting a speeding ticket in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

A very unexpected, “No shit,” comes out of Caroline’s mouth as Bee drives away and then it’s just the four of them again, and hard to remember that anything else matters.

Well, there is one thing…

“You lied to us,” Miranda says as they make their way to the elevator. No help comes for the smile that spreads across Andy’s face at the word ‘us’.

“We didn’t lie, Mom.” Caroline slows down to basically get away from Miranda and takes Andy’s hand.

“You did.” Miranda says over her shoulder, not to be overruled.

“We just didn’t _elaborate_ ,” Cassidy interjects then hangs back a step to take Andy’s other hand. “And that’s…you know…not as bad.”

Miranda turns on a dime once they’re in the elevator. “Not as bad? What is that supposed to mean?”

No answer is given. Right when Caroline starts to take another turn, she hisses in pain and Miranda stops caring about elaboration, and so does Andy. It doesn’t even matter now anyway. They did what they did, and it’s done and over with it, leaving no doubt that they’ll do it all over again if they feel like it, regardless of what Miranda thinks—so what does it matter?

Andy scoops Caroline up into her arms since it’s apparent she can barely stand up. Her adrenaline rush is wearing off, being replaced by pain.

“We’ll get you both cleaned up, and then the two of you can sit on my couch for a while,” Miranda says, stepping closer to kiss Caroline’s cheek. “I have a run-through in thirty minutes. Don’t I?”

“I have no idea, Miranda.” Andy answers her, totally ignorant of the time. At this point it could be ten o’clock for all she knows, but has a feeling that they weren’t even in the parking garage for twenty minutes. Everything happened so fast. 

“That’s a first,” Miranda smarts back and Caroline giggles.

Cassidy leans against Miranda’s side. “Andy’s tired, Mom. You own forty different watches. Pick one and wear it. You can tell time, right?”

None of them (not even Miranda) can help but laugh. And really, she might have owned forty watches a few days ago, but Miranda doesn’t now. Someone else has all her jewelry. Someone else has the painting that even in this hectic day isn’t but an inch from Andy’s thoughts.

“You have to put her down,” Cassidy says all of the sudden, catching Andy completely off guard once they’ve quieted.

Caroline, Andy and even Miranda look down at her. None of them understands.

“Nobody can know.” Cassidy becomes slightly red in the face and looks around the elevator like it’s a novelty she’s never experienced. “You like us, Andy,” she continues again slowly. “People aren’t supposed to like us.”

Andy sucks in a breath and so does Miranda.

Turning her head to look up at her mother, the girl that’s smarter than her sister gives her credit for, finishes. “If people see you with Caroline like that, they’ll figure it out. So you can’t yet… You can’t like us yet. You can’t like each _other_ yet. You know? Out in the open.”

So they know? They know… And they also know that it’s got to be a secret for no telling how long. Nobody can know. Cassidy is right. They’re not supposed to be _liked_. Just look at Page Six. None of them are likable and certainly not lovable according to that piece of filth.

Neither she nor Miranda can do anything about it, though. It’s the truth. It fucking sucks, but it’s truth no matter how you spin it.  Miranda is still married and Stephen wants way too much for the privilege he wasted; Caroline and Cassidy’s father is just a straight-up maniac and Andy is Miranda’s assistant. They are all standing on a very thin sheet of ice—meaning that when the elevator door opens in a few seconds, Andy’s got to walk a couple steps behind them all and act like they mean absolutely nothing to her. After this complete mess of a day, it’s got to be business as usual. She has to stand alone.

But maybe not.

When the elevator opens wide, thrusting reality into their faces, the girls march down the hall like they own the place and definitely like neither of them is injured in the slightest way. Miranda never bothers to catch up and take the lead. With a smile on her face, she makes the conscious choice (in spite of what Cassidy thinks can or cannot happen right now) to hang back those few steps so that Andy is not alone after all.

It is unquestionably one of the best feelings in the world.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I count myself very fortunate to have grown up in a small school. Thirty-two people in one class for basically eighteen years is pretty remarkable. We spent a lot of time hating each other though because that’s just what kids do. But we also knew how to take care of each other and those younger than us. You can say that an ‘adult’ should handle every fucked up situation that comes along…and that’s nice—but unrealistic. Nothing we did to gain a tiny bit of peace and justice for our friends was ever misguided or worthy of regret. The world is far from perfect and where adults are complete failures, children hold more power in their tiny hands than you think. And they sure as hell have better eyes and ears.


End file.
